Tears of Blood
by Roxeant
Summary: FINALLY! TEARS OF BLOOD IS FINISHED! This is the saga of a slave, a friend, a lover, a madbeast, and a warrior. All of these are one creature, and yet they are seperate. Many different creatures entwined into one destiny- the destiny of Kyra Longfletch.
1. Book One

**Book One: The Skippers Daughter**

Waves lapped against the side of the sturdy wooden ship as it drifted closer and closer towards the tall mound of rock looming in front of it out of the fog. The place seemed to be a harmless sea volcano sticking out just above the waves.

Soft moonlight was reflected on the water, slowly breaking and fragmenting as the dark blue waves rolled about lazily near the ship, hardly making a sound. The silence was eerie, and almost unnatural. The creaking of the timbers and riggings was barely audible. There was no wind to stir them from their normal positions.

Even the shifting, deep, and mysterious sea seemed silent. This was an odd occurrence. The ocean was rarely silent. But this night it was. It was as if the entire night was still, held in one fragile moment. If any sound was heard, the moment would break in an instant and shatter into a thousand pieces.

All of the noisy seabirds were at rest, and none of the crewbeasts on the ship were brave enough to make a sound and disturb the quiet atmosphere. It was a quiet atmosphere, yes, but not a peaceful one. A strange tension hung over the sea and ship, and the almost unnatural silence only added to the uneasiness.

The crew- made up of ferrets, weasels, foxes, stoats, and even a rat or two- stared out at the land mass they were approaching. Moonlight shone down upon them, caressing them with its silvery radiance, but not a one of the evil vermin could feel its soft touch upon their fur.

Each crewmember aboard the ship could hear themselves breathing. Their heartbeats echoed like drums in their ears, and the smallest sounds seemed magnified a thousand fold. There was a feeling of foreboding about the crew that stood on the decks, keeping their watches and waiting.

The sails were hoisted for a speedy getaway, and all that the crewbeasts had to do before the ship reached land was to wait; wait in total silence. The silence was necessary for the task they were about to perform.

And so the ungainly lot sat about, scratching ears and bottoms, rubbing eyes to fend off sleep, and yawning. Sleep was impossible for all of them. How could they sleep in such a tense and unnerving atmosphere? It was far too quiet.

None of them even considered sleep. They only feigned tiredness as something to do, to keep away boredom. But boredom too was impossible to feel. All that remained was that indescribable, nervous feeling that loomed over them like a specter.

They acted tired and bored to distract themselves. And they all needed a distraction from the strange feeling about the night that they were about to endure. It was a night that would change the lives of all.

The large rat standing at the prow of the ship failed to notice any of the beauties that can only be seen on a moonlit night at sea. Of course, the uneasy beating of hearts and the shifting of many crewbeasts diluted the scene that would have been enchanting on any other night out at sea.

The beauties of the night were still there to be enjoyed; however, none paid them any heed. The crewbeasts were uneasy, and the magnificently muscled rat knew it too. He didn't care. Even if he had cared about their feelings, what could he have done to ease their minds?

So, as a wise captain, the rat decided to ignore the strange feelings that seeped like mist into his own heart, and into the hearts of his crew. He wasn't one to care for beauty, except for the beauty of plunder and power. He cared for that type of beauty quite a lot. His love for the beauty of plunder and power could almost be considered an obsession.

In fact, it WAS an obsession. But, then again, weren't most vermin apt to feel those longings? Even so, this rat felt a love for plunder and power that was stronger than those of other vermin. That was why he was a Captain, and why they were not.

He had lusted after power, and had worked hard to have it. Planning and scheming, training and bullying, spying and betraying, he had forced his way to the top against all who opposed him. He had started out as a scullyrat, but had worked his way up from there, gaining higher positions by any means necessary.

It had paid off. He had become Captain of his ship by ousting all the competition. But, he would do more than that. He had plans for the future. Why be content with being a Captain? He had other things in mind. He wanted to be a warlord. Why settle for one ship when you could control dozens? He had made it this far, why not farther?

His eyes were fixed on the dark shadow that stood before him. The dark, looming volcano that reclined silently in the sea was more than it seemed. It held a deadly secret that few knew, that few would ever know. Hardly anyone knew where the mound was, or who happened to live in it. He knew its secret though, and was going to use the volcano's hidden treasure for his own purposes: to become a warlord.

The rat spat into the sea, scratching an ear with a claw. He smiled. Soon, the treasure inside the sea volcano would be his! This is what would make him the greatest legend there ever was. He would not die like the weaklings of the past: he would be their king! All would bow to him. Soon, he would rule! Soon.

He was a large rat; his fur matted and tattered from dried salt water. His beady black eyes were small in his large and shaggy head. As he opened his mouth, yellowish fangs with hints of green in them glistened in the soft moonlight. He had quite a few earrings in each of his ears as well.

He wore a fine leather belt, in which he kept his scimitar, silver with a finely jeweled hilt. A black cape made of velvet hung about his broad and strong shoulders, and he wore a fine white tunic, though his tunics needed washing often, as they were stained with blood and most of the time.

Unlike most vermin, this rat was a cleanly beast. He was above the dirt and muck. Baths, he had discovered, were not harmful to a beast at all. They only made one look more impressive. Right now, though, he was dirty. They had been sailing for a long while to get to this mountain, and he had not had an opportunity to bathe.

"Grongar!" The rat called, turning his gruesome head and fixing his hard, cruel black eyes upon the ferret that sat up in the crow's nest of the ship. Grongar the ferret was almost asleep at his post. He had been on watch for days upon days, and hadn't had time to rest. Despite the uneasy feeling in the air, the ferret had managed to ignore it because of the amazingly fatigued state of his mind and body.

The ferret opened one eye and squinted down at the rat Warlord before him. Grongar couldn't help wincing a bit as he saw the greenish fangs and the golden hoop earrings illuminated in the moonlight. Mavarl, for that was the rat's name, was truly a terrifying figure to behold! And the legends about his deeds of cruelty were already starting to spread.

Grongar leaned forwards slightly from his position in the crows nest to answer his Master. "Aye, Cap'n! Whatcher want me t'do, eh?" he asked, opening both eyes for the first time. He fervently hoped that Mavarl hadn't caught him napping.

He also hoped that the Captain, or more accurately, tyrant, was in a good mood. Cap'n Mavarl had been known to give out beatings for anything and nothing, and the ferret didn't fancy getting a tanning, or even receiving death. Captain Mavarl was as unpredictable as the weather on the northern sea, and as cold and as harsh as the Northlands as well.

"Well, scum brain, what d'you see up there? That is, iff'n ye haven't fallen asleep at yer post, y'great idiot. Iff'n we're goin' to attack this floatin' rubbish 'eap, lets get th' damn job over with, by th' Claws of Hellthunder! I want t'know iff'n ye sees any creatures or guards about. These Otterfolk don' know that anyone has discovered their liddle secret village yet, bu' they might 'ave sentries."

Otters. That was the secret of the sea volcano. Inside its hidden depths, a peaceful tribe of Otters lived, able to farm the fertile soil of its interior and catch shrimp and fish from the sea in which they lived. Mavarl intended robbing them of all they had, as well as keeping them as slaves on his ship.

Unbeknownst to the creatures aboard the ship there was indeed a creature out and about that night, though she wasn't exactly a guard or a threat. A young ottermaid, perhaps about twelve seasons of age, sat playing a set of pipes on the volcano's hard surface.

Holt Ruddaring, as the place was called, was the home of a few hundred otters. The maid was quite content with her life as the Daughter of Skipper Ironjaw Trueflight. Holt Ruddaring had been a secret for countless seasons, and only once had any creatures not living there discovered it. Ships carrying Corsairs and Vermin armies passed right by, thinking it was nothing but an inactive volcano.

Many seasons ago, a mouse by the name of Martin, the son of Mattimeo the Warrior and descendant of Matthias of Redwall, had come to the Holt with his peaceful band of followers. The otters, wanting desperately to protect their secret Holt, implored Martin to keep their secret so that harm would not befall Holt Ruddaring.

One of his companions, Grath Longfletch of Lutra, had even remained at Holt Ruddaring and had married Inbarr Trueflight, who was to inherit the title of Skipper. Of course, the otters couldn't have expected their secret to stay a secret for long. Exactly how they had been discovered, nobeast knew. But, they had been found, and Mavarl was one of the few who had learned of this hidden place.

Right after he had, the rat had determined to loot it. A bunch of untrained otters sitting on a treasurehouse? How easy could it get? He, of course, was wrong. Ever since Grath Longfletch and Inbarr Trueflight had taken over the Holt, both had made sure to train at least a few guards, just in case they were discovered and attacked.

These Otters were warriors, but they would surely be outnumbered if it came to a fight between them and the vermin. If the vermin attacked, the otters would surely fall. The only things the young ottermaid mentioned before had known were love and friendship, though.

She had always found relief in her twin, Ronil, after a hard days training, or a boring day spent in the Holt with the aged resident Historian. With him, she learned how to read, write, and had memorized her history and the stories of her ancestors. The only lessons she had ever enjoyed were the ones about brave otters who fought in great, bloody battles.

She especially liked the story of her Granddam, Grath Longfletch, and of her Grandsire, Inbarr Trueflight. Theirs was a tale of great length and one of great valor as well, and Kyrani Longfletch- Kyra, or Kys, for short- enjoyed telling the tale almost as much as she loved to hear it.

Ronil was her brother and her twin, though their temperaments were as different as day and night. Ronil was a warrior born with a quiet and firm personality, like a rock. He was deadly with almost any weapon, though he was only a young beast as well, and was expected to take over the leadership of Holt Ruddaring and all of the Sea Otters.

Kyra had always been a bit miffed at being the younger of them, and at being female. Being a Skippers Daughter, she would never grow up to be a warrior, or a Skipper. Her brother was older, male, and would inherit all: Title, Wealth, the Holt, everything. Everything Kyra had ever dreamed of having.

And she wanted it. She lusted after the position her brother held. But what could she do? Ronil was only older by a few seconds. Her father was, of course, proud of her, but the 'Great Ironjaw Trueflight' refused to recognize his daughter's potential.

And so Kyra pushed herself even harder to force him to notice her, to make him watch and learn how wonderful she could truly be, but none of it came to anything. She was still younger, and she was still a girl. Perhaps part of the prejudice was in Kyra's own mind, distorted by her intense jealousy, but the fact remained that she was indeed overshadowed by her brother.

What infuriated her even more was that she was a better marksbeast even than her brother. The small ottermaid's skill with a bow was enough to rival even her fathers... or even her Granddams. Of course, Kyra hadn't been allowed to learn how to wield any other weapons. She had learned about the bow in secret, from her Grandmother.

Her lessons in bowmanship had started at the age of four seasons. She had a remarkable talent for the bow and arrow, and she learned quickly. However, the small ottermaid's attempts with a saber, or even with a sling or javelin, were rather pitiful. She fumbled them, dropped them, and seemed to be wielding a writhing snake in her hand instead of whatever weapon she chose.

Still, her bowmanship was remarkable, almost as if it made up for all of the other weapons that she couldn't really wield well. And so, she spent all of her time training, whenever she wasn't at her lessons. It might seem strange that a young ottermaid should work so much, but she did.

For eight seasons Kyra had wanted her father to notice her, and for eight seasons she had known that her skill with bow and arrows was better than best. It was her talent, and she would win her father's affection with it. She might not be able to wield a saber or bolases, but Kyra Longfletch was the deadliest bowbeast ever to shoot an arrow.

Ronil, surprisingly, sided with Kyra when it came to leadership of the Holt. He wanted the leadership of the Holt, and would do a wonderful job at it, but he would have rather seen his little sister happy. His was a quiet and loving temperament. Kyra was a clever little rogue. But both siblings were inseparable. The two loved each other with a fierce passion that words could hardly describe.

And both would die for each other. Ronil knew Kyra was a much better bowbeast than he was, and he knew why too. Kyra was better because she was jealous. Jealous of the attention his father gave him. Their mother had died when Kyra was born, though Ronil didn't blame her in the least for that.

He knew that Kyra spent any free time she had practicing. Practicing with any bow she could get her paws on so that her father would notice her. But he never did. He loved her, but he only had eyes for Ronil. Kyra Longfletch had gone over these thoughts thousands of times in her head, but she could never find solace from them.

Relief eluded her, and she could never be at peace with her situation. She absolutely hated being the second best, being invisible. Her greatest desire was for her father to notice her and accept her as a daughter. A great anger at her father burned within her, but she also loved him too.

She often snuck out of the Holt on moonlit nights to reminisce and complain, if only to herself. Perhaps it was a simple childish envy, and many said it was. But deep down, she knew it wasn't. She didn't hate Ronil, or her father. She hated the fact that she was younger. She hated the fact that she would never be something. She hated it.

But Kyra would never complain in front of her father, or anyone else. Anyone except Ronil. But then again, Ronil wasn't just anyone. Kyra had, as she so often did, brought her grandmothers bow with her. It often made her feel more complete to hold it in her paws and think of the marvelous things it had done.

She patted the bow with its green fletched arrows that lay beside her, smiling happily as she ran her paw along the smooth wooden surface. The long, smooth, round shafts, the polished yew with a rough rope binding for a paw-grip, and razor sharp, deadly points.

It reassured her, somehow, being able to touch the bow that was her family's legacy. She loved the feel of the grains of wood beneath her paw. And the tears and story it held. Her Granddam had made it, and the young maid had always felt that the special bow had been meant for her use. The story behind the bow made it even more valuable in Kyra's eyes.

She had often stolen it from her Granddams chambers to use for her practices. Grath always made sure that the secret of Kyra's stealing was never discovered. Besides, she was proud of Kyra's marksmanship. It rivaled even her own. With Grath as her teacher, Kyra flourished over her eight years of training. Now, she just had to find a way to show her father.

Then, surely, he would allow her to be trained as a warrior like her brother! She accepted the fact that she was the youngest of his children with dignity, and had reluctantly adjusted to the knowledge that she would not be ruler of the Sea Otters because she was the second to be born, but not being able to wield a weapon infuriated her.

Only then did Kyra notice the ship coming closer and closer. It was swiftly nearing her perch on the Volcano that was really the hidden Holt Ruddaring. Her soft brown eyes widened with fright, and her heart pounded wildly, making her head pound.

For a moment she froze, watching in horror: many a time she had seen a vermin ship go by, but she had never felt the feeling she felt now. Deep, deep fear. She got up, notching an arrow to her Grandmothers bowstring, and started to run towards the secret entrance to the Holt, the same one she had crept out of. Her small paws fumbled slightly with the large bow, but she kept a firm grip, despite her fearful sweat.

She saw the ship bump against the cold, hardened magma that had once bubbled from the volcano, and now made a barren and tiny island. Her home. Her heart thumped faster as she quickened her pace, bolting towards the entrance as fast as she could move.

From atop the ship, Grongar was peering out over the island, trying to see if he could spot any otters lurking about. He saw none. And then, suddenly, a shadow caught his eye. Leaning forwards, he tried to get a closer look.

"Oi! Mavarl, yer mightyness, I think I be seein' sommat out on that island o'er yonder. Somebeast moved a bit. T'was a dark shadow runnin' to the volcano!" The ferret squinted, confirming his report. He had seen somebeast move, and they were moving fast! Only then did he realize the creature's intentions.

"Sire!" the ferret called out, his voice filled with fear, "It's goin' to warn the Holt! It'll wake up them warrior H'Otters fer sure! We're done for now! H'I dunno what we're gonna do, fightin' them otters!" Lord Mavarl cursed under his breath, spitting out any oaths he could think of. His element of surprise was totally lost, thanks to that little Otterbrat... unless...

Before the boat had fully reached the shore of the Volcano/Island, Lord Mavarl hopped into the cold, icy waters of the sea, his cutlass drawn from its scabbard and the golden, jewel encrusted blade waving about in the air. He waded ashore and his eyes were alight with battle and bloodlust. The rat warlord made his forwards, moving swiftly through the chilling, dark waters and heading towards the running Kyra.

If he could reach her in time, the Holt wouldn't be warned, and he could put his plan into action! "Come ashore, mateys," he called, turning his ugly head behind him to watch his crew's progress through the shallow sea. "We may still have time yet to keep that beast from warnin' them otters what lives 'ere. There's killin' to be done tonight, an' I want to be the one doin' it!"

The Captain laughed as he put one wet paw on the Volcano's hardened magma. He could see the runner clearly now, and almost laughed. This was what he was worried about? The shadow had turned out to be a tiny creature, no more than a babe! Never mind that, it would have to be killed nonetheless, or at least captured and put out of the way.

The Ottermaid knew before she saw Mavarl coming at her with his cutlass that she would not have time to reach the Holt before he reached her. Her heart pounded, and her head throbbed even more wildly than before. Everything about her seemed to sway as she used the last breath in her lungs to give one final war cry.

She would not die a coward, begging for mercy. Inside, she knew that was not her fate. She narrowed her eyes, slowing her pace slightly, and fixing her posture. She would die a brave death, like a true Warrior. She was going to be brave and strong! She would show her father that his daughter was no weakling, if it was the last thing she did!

She exhaled the breath from her lungs as she let ring the war cry her Granddam had used while killing vermin, hoping to let the name of her ancestors ring clearly just one more time. She sucked in a deep breath, and with all the might in her tiny lungs, all the envy and hatred she had for herself having to be the one without the ability to wield a weapon, she let out a bloodcurdling cry.

If her father would not be proud of her after this, she didn't think anything would impress him.

"HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLT LUTRAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Mavarl winced as the ottermaid's war cry rang through the empty air, and cursed at her fluently under his breath. She had warned the Holt after all! There was no way that he could attack Ruddaring now! The rat ran swiftly and silently towards Kyra, his green teeth gleaming as he moved.

His crew, however, turned around swiftly and waded back to the ship, raising the sails to retreat. Cap'n Mavarl would not be long in joining them. The rat corsair raised his cutlass and, instead of striking the ottermaid with the blade, brought the hilt end down upon her head, knocking her unconscious.

"I'll have some fun wid yer yet, brat, an' make ye scream loud and long fer a fast end 'fore I'm done wi' ye! I swear it as a Son of 'Ellgates!" The rat recited a fluent string of vulgar and foul curses as he saw a band of heavily armed otters running towards him from the Volcano, and grabbed the ottermaid's limp and unconscious form in his arms. He would make her pay for his lost chance at plundering Ruddaring!

And now, he had a new slave to bring back with him to the ship. He jumped aboard the ship, throwing the ottermaid's battered and bruised body to the ground roughly before barking out orders to his crew. "Yew there, throw this 'un inter the barracks an' chain 'er up, good 'n tight. We've got a new slave." Kyra was carried off, her limp form breathing lightly.

"Now, Hagtail, go 'n steer this ship south'ards. We've enough plunder as it is, an' losin' this bit them Otters 'ave won't 'urt us. Turn the ship two points to th' south!" He looked around at the still and silent crew, and waved his cutlass threateningly. "Well quit gawpin'! Git back t'work! Move it!" he snarled, rousing the crew into action.

The journey of Kyra Longfletch had begun.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Any creature that visited the islands far to the West where the sun never sets and where strange creatures lived would say it was beautiful there. The Island on which Castle Fortguard stood was no exception. Everything about the Island was beautiful and exotic, very different from the mainland. The temperature was always warm, and it never snowed or rained.

The air smelt of salt and the sea, and there was always a breeze blowing, carrying the scent of tropical flowers with it. The southern sea surrounding the island of Fortguard and the tall castle that crowned it shone like a sapphire, a large one, studded with a small emerald in its center. The sky shone a deep turquoise blue as well, streaked with a soft red light.

Strange creature and beautiful plants lived there, and the sun never did seem to set. Yes, this was the exotic west. . . this beauty, however, wasn't seen by the unfortunate slaves that toiled there. The longer the day, the more work the pitiful ragtag bunch had to do, and the less sleep they got.

The slaves always thanked the seasons when the winter months added an hour or two to the night and gave them a little more time to rest. Still, the accursed sun rose every day and waited as long as possible before setting. When it finally did set at last, it seemed to rush around the other side of the world, flying through the celestial heavens as fast as it was possible, to return and shine again the next morning.

So bad were the conditions of the slaves that even a scrap of food or a minute or two of extra sleep in the morning was considered a blessing. Creatures either served up in the palace of Lord Mavarl, or else were forced to work in the fields.

The creatures that worked in the palace were oldbeasts. The work there was hard and painful, but it was a bit cooler, and there were scraps to be found. The oldbeasts described it as heaven compared to the work they had done in their youth, toiling in the fields. The time that the younger, fitter slaves spent in the fields was exhausting.

Still, all of the slaves at Fortguard were freed at least once a day. . . during their dreams. The time when a slave rests is the only time in their endless drudgery when they may be free and happy, when those who remembered it may dream of home. Slaves, though they are captives, still have pure souls, souls that still long for love and attention and compassion, even when there is none to be found.

There was no kindness at Fortguard among the rat warriors that lived there, and only a small amount among the slaves. The guards wouldn't allow the slaves to be too kind to each other. Kyra Longfletch was one of the slaves who didn't think that this was the way things were supposed to be. She was also one of the few slaves that remembered a time when there was no Lord Mavarl, no pain, and no work to be done.

Over the seasons that she had spent in slavery, the ottermaid had grown tall, strong, and lean. She had transformed herself from a fat otter kit with dreams of being a warrior into a young, beautiful ottermaid who was even more determined to escape her bondage than before.

Well, Kyra wasn't exactly beautiful. She could have been described as pretty or attractive perhaps, but not stunningly beautiful. Instead, she was admirable. Or, she would have been described as admirable if she had not been half starved, with her dark fur matted with dirt and sweat. Here, even the Skipper's Daughter, once like nobility, rarely got a chance to bathe.

Now, more than ever, she was determined to escape from the bondage of Slavery and to feel the wood of her Granddams bow beneath her paws. She would regain that bow from Lord Mavarl one day. Kyra knew perfectly well that rebellions were often squashed and destroyed, and that many brave and pushy beasts who acted recklessly were killed.

That was why Kyra had waited and planned. She had caused as much trouble as possible without crossing too far over the line. Mavarl always knew the worst of the troublemakers. She was careful not to cause too much trouble for fear of being marked as disobedient. If she rebelled too much, she would be marked, and she couldn't afford to have Mavarl watching her.

If the rat warlord knew her, than her chances of starting a rebellion would be slim to none. She doubted that she could live if she did not escape from this hell. The evil rat warlord had taken her bow from her as well as her freedom. Being owned by another, being a slave, had almost driven her insane. It had pushed her to the edge of her sanity.

The thought of being 'owned' by another creature was revolting to her, and she felt a strong repugnance towards the concept. How she hated not even possessing her freedom! Even the poorest of beggars had that small comfort to their names. Slaves were lower than the lowest. But, Kyra had realized that insanity was a deadly thing to possess at Fortguard. Insanity meant death.

A strange spark, a strange will to survive, had risen within the young ottermaid. She hadn't known that it was there before. She hadn't been particularly brave at home. She had been afraid of heights, no matter how much of a rogue she had been. Being subjected to slavery had forced her to mature quickly. She knew that she could not let that spark be quenched.

If only she could somehow get her bow back! Then, she would kill Mavarl, and she would make him scream long and loud before she finished him. Ever since she had been brought to Castle Fortguard, Kyra had sworn that she would kill Mavarl.

She was not one to become sick at the thought of blood, since so much of her own had been spilt, as had the blood of her friends under the lash. Lord Mavarl would have done better to leave this maid behind after his raid. But for his foolishness, he would pay dearly: with his life.

Unknowingly, these slavers had created a bloodthirsty monster. This monster was not on good terms with them, considering that they had whipped her, starved her, beaten her, and made sure that her life was miserable. And the monster they had created was determined to have her revenge.

The ottermaid smiled as she leaned against one of the walls that surrounded the Slave Compounds. The slaves were always surrounded by walls. They were kept in an enclosure that was surrounded by high, pointed stakes that had been hammered into the ground. Inside this enclosure there was a large building to provide shelter, though in actuality it was not much more than a rubbish heap.

The plan that had formed in her mind after seasons and seasons would finally be put into action. The plan that she had worked so hard to make, and that she thought was flawless, could finally start after all the seasons she had spent trying to learn where everything was in and around Castle Fortguard.

She would free the great eaglebird that Mavarl had captured to have some sport with while she volunteered to feed it, and then send it for help while she organized the slaves into a rebellion. The part that had taken a long time for Kyra to figure out was how to get outside aid. The slaves could not defeat Mavarl without help from another source. The Eagle that Lord Mavarl had captured would serve her purpose admirably.

The only flaw in her plan was the possibility that the Eagle might not help, or might fail in his mission. And what would she do then? She couldn't let herself be subjected to torture much longer. Try for rebellion and die fighting to end her pain, most likely.

Kyra sighed as she watched the sun slowly rising in the western sky, which glowed pink and red as the great ball of fire crawled towards its noontide zenith. Kyra had always loved watching the sunrise at Holt Ruddaring. The sun had always been a beautiful thing, representing a new day and new adventures with Ronil. Now, after being a slave for season after season, she hated the sun.

The sun meant work, fatigue, and pain to her now, and she did not care for its beauty. The graceful beauty of the moonlight was the only companion she desired at the end of the day. The moonlight meant freedom, a shadowed taste of the life that she had once known. It was a mere wraith of her previous life, a life that seemed so far away from her now, but it was something.

And her condition wasn't the worst of them, unfortunately. Some of the dibbuns here couldn't even imagine freedom. They had grown up in slavery. They considered their condition to be only what was proper and right, and never imagined that things could be different or better for them. They submitted to cruelty simply because they knew no other way of life.

It wasn't only the young that had forgotten freedom, but the old too. Some of the slaves had grown so old that they had forgotten their previous lives. They had forgotten liberty, happiness, and free will: they had forgotten life and freedom.

Kyra, however, knew. Kyra remembered leisurely days running around with her twin and causing mischief. She remembered playing tricks on the historian, stealing cakes and pasties, and practicing marksmanship. She even missed her lessons in the dusty old library! Even that small discomfort seemed like a lost paradise to the ottermaid now. No lesson that she had ever fallen asleep during could be worse than her life as a slave.

And to believe that not inheriting had been her largest worry in those days! Now she knew what it truly was to be oppressed and miserable. Now, she understood the law of the lash and had seen how black the heart could be. Kyra had been forced to take on an adult identity before it was truly her time, had been forced to learn about the true world while still a young child.

However, it wasn't as if she had been given a choice. This sudden maturity was not good at all for her. It had made her biased in many ways, and she wasn't prone to kindness as much as to hate. She recognized hate, and had learned to deal with it in her own way. Kindness was more of a mystery to her. Her young mind was contorted, twisted out of proportion.

Mavarl had done that to her. Nobeast who hadn't experienced what Kyra had experienced could really understand her. Nobeast who hadn't felt the taste of the lash upon their back, searching for their blood could know her pain. Nobeast could know how much it hurt her to see little children starve, and their parents starve even more because they had given all of their food to their young ones.

She had to watch the elderly as they were whipped to death, or as they were slowly killed over a series of many days filled with hard labor and intense mental agony. Kyra knew death, and had embraced it, hugging it like a beloved one. Death and any emotion but anger were things Kyra had no experience with, or had forgotten.

She had once known love, but couldn't quite believe it really existed. The crueler emotions had hardened her heart, and she had only room for anger and revenge left. Though she did have some friends, one friend in particular, among the slaves, anger and hate had taken over the little love that she still held in her heart and had all but squashed it out. These friends and her forgotten family were the only source Kyra had of kind and gentle emotions.

Kyra did recall love, and still felt it a little. The feeling had faded, however, but, as is the nature of love, it had not disappeared. Besides, she had a friend. A good friend. One day, the wounds that hate and despair had caused would heal over slightly, allowing her to love more completely. Kyra still retained her honor. The better emotions that she knew of were the only things that helped her to keep her sanity.

She was a strange mix. She understood hate and darkness all too well and let them gnaw at her soul and almost consume her, but kept some virtues of the light buried within. She remembered love and felt it towards her fellow slaves. She still remembered happiness and honor, though they had been faded by years of blood and tears. Mavarl's whip and lash had lengthened her endurance.

His abuse had turned her heart to stone. His hatred had made her anger build up, so that it overpowered some of the kinder feelings she still remembered. That anger would soon reach the boiling point if she didn't let it out, no matter the shape or form. This abuse would either end in freedom, or death. The ottermaid wouldn't have it any other way.

It was rather hard for Kyra to believe she had once been like royalty: the pearl and jewel of her father's family. She had been Ironjaw's daughter, however disobedient and fierce she was at times. If only her father could see her now, could learn of the abuse that had changed his young, happy, spirited daughter into a slave who could hardly remember any emotion but anger. Who was the warrior now?

She had suffered more in one season than her father had in his entire life. She would have liked to see his face after one day in her new life. Then, oh then, he would have more respect for the daughter he had shunned! Did he think physical abuse was awful? How could her father know of the mental anguish that faced each slave, never knowing if you'd last the day, never knowing if you'd ever escape, never knowing if your torment would end?

Kyra was beyond pain. Kyra was powerful.

She sighed, and regretfully got up from the ground next to the high wooden polls that surrounded the Slave Compound. She yawned and pulled the rags that sufficed as a tunic closer around her, though she was not cold. It was never cold here. The Slavers would be coming to wake them up soon, and you didn't want to be out and about when the Slavers came.

The demons looked for any excuse they could find to add more abuse to the regular torture that the slaves faced every day. Day after day after unending day. Kyra strode off towards the mangy pile of sticks and logs that was supposed to be a shelter from the hurricanes that swept over the sea and island regularly. She squinted as the sun rose even higher in the sky.

The slavers were probably already in the outer portion of the Compound, she mused, stepping into the humble shelter and looking around. Candles were lit, and the slavers were already standing in the front entrance, pounding on the walls to wake everybeast up. The ottermaid tried to calm her pounding heart. Being singled out was an awful thing. A slave's goal was to remain unnoticeable.

Silently, Kyra slipped in through a sizeable gap in the pile of logs that was their shelter. Luckily, the slavers didn't see her late arrival. She wasn't supposed to be out. Kyra sighed, and went around the compound, trying to use her strong body to pull up those who weren't as durable for hard labor. She stooped, helping an elderly bank vole up from the corner where she had been huddling that night.

There were so many slaves stuffed into that one compound that the heat and the smell of sweat were almost unbearable. She lifted the almost weightless volewife up with one powerful paw and arm and set her on her feet before moving around to help other creatures. The rather fat stoat standing at the front entrance to the shelter cracked his whip and laughed as he waited for the slaves to rouse themselves for that days work.

"Hahahahahahar, mateys, get up 'n go take a look at th' sunshine! In a few hours ye won't be wantin' to look at it no more! You all are t'report fer duty in the fields again. Get yer lazy bodies movin', we've got work t'do afore this day be done, an' I sure wouldn't wanna be the beast that don't do it! The sooner you get out there, the more work you c'n get done, an' the happier Lord Mavarl is."

The slaves put a little more effort into getting up and stumbling out of the door towards the fields. The stoat watched each of the miserable slaves pass him by. None of this lot were much good anymore. All the oldbeasts, the spirit and emotions that they had once possessed long gone, were almost useless, only putting perfunctory efforts into their labors.

The younger ones had already been dragged out of the shelter by their parents to avoid whippings. They hadn't learned how to resist or how to change, and lived a life of monotony. Years of hardship, starvation, and pain had taken their toll on all of the slaves, young and old. Not many of them had the spirit or will to do any work, even if they had the body and strength. Their will to live had been beaten out of them seasons ago.

Kyra waited until many of the other slaves had gone and until only the slow and elderly were left before shepherding them out of the compound and towards the fields. As the tall ottermaid strode past the Stoat, she tilted her chin upwards and held her head high. That would make him nervous. That would make him afraid. Inside, all of Lord Mavarl's cronies were bullies and cowards, and even a meager slave showing confidence would frighten them.

One old mouse still lay sprawled on the floor of the slave compound with his mate, an old mousewife, trying desperately to rouse him. The mouse didn't move despite his wife's shoving and urging. "C'mon Ranlo, get up," she said, shoving at his motionless form.

The Stoat laughed again, and yelled, "Lissen t'yore missus, scum, or I'll make ye get up!" When the mouse didn't move, the stoat drew his whip. "We don't 'ave room fer lazybeasts at Castle Fortguard," he yelled as he rained blows upon the mouse and his old wife. They screamed, and the mousewife huddled against the still form of her husband.

She knew this would be the end, and was somewhat relieved. This meant no more work or tears. This meant that she could be with Ranlo forever in peace and quiet without any problems. Her spirit had gone to the Dark Forest long before, and now it was time for her body to join it there. The old maid glared defiantly up at the Stoat, and her eyes held a simple message: "Do your worst. You cannot harm me anymore."

The stoat continued lashing out with his whip. He brought the stinging whip down with more vigor, noting that the mousemaid did not seem to pay any attention to the pain. The mousewife lay next to her husband and closed her eyes for the last time. She would be safe now. No one could hurt her where she was going. She would be at peace for the first time in countless seasons.

Kyra heard their screams echo around the Compound as she walked out of the door. She held back the tears that had been stinging her eyes. You could never let the Slavers know that you were weak. That only gave them more power over you. Kyra knew that she couldn't go back and help the mice. She would only get a beating too, and could possibly die for killing one of Lord Mavarl's Captains! Then, she could never free any of the slaves, let alone herself.

Kyra tried to walk more briskly, wanting to drown out the screams that she could still hear from the Compound, but she managed to say a small prayer. "Go friends, and may your spirits travel safely to the Dark Forest."


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Working in the fields was torture, as it was every day for Kyra and the other slaves. The scythes that they used for the harvesting always seemed to grow heavier as the day passed slowly by. The slaves, resigning themselves to another day of sweat, pain, and torture, tramped out to the fields, all the spirit gone from them.

Kyra Longfletch was in the rear, helping the stragglers along, and often taking blows for them. This was not a strange or unnatural thing to do. In fact, it was actually quite a common act of charity among the slaves. Many of the younger beasts felt that it was their duty to protect the elders. Some did it because they had relatives among the old.

Some did it because it was expected. Some did it so that they would be assured protection in their own old age. Some did it simply to try and do what they could to defy Mavarl without taking up arms. Kyra did it for all but the first of these reasons.

A whip cracked down upon the ottermaid's right shoulder, and when she reached behind her with a paw to feel the wound she had just received, Kyra felt the trickle of blood staining the fur of her shoulder, and the fur of her paw. She tried to ignore the pain, gritted her teeth, and kept on. The sound of groans and whimpers echoed around her, emitted from all of the other marching slaves.

The others were getting their fair share as well. With Kyra was her friend Skythistle, called Sky for short. She was a tall and lanky haremaid, spirited even in slavery and well muscled, though this was demeaned to the extreme by the starvation that the slaves of Fortguard were forced to endure.

It was almost like any other miserable day... except for the fact that Kyra was about to put her escape plan into action. The first step was to tell Sky. Sky was Kyra's most trusted friend, and would be able to aid her.

Sky, as mentioned before, was a haremaid and was Kyra's best friend at Castle Fortguard. The spirited, ever-hungry, and equally ever-cheerful hare had filled the void that the ottermaid's long forgotten twin Ronil had left. Kyra missed her other- and possibly better (at times)- half dreadfully, and had often turned to Sky for comfort, as Sky had turned to her when she was feeling depressed.

It was a never ending cycle of friendship and compassion. Skythistle Morningdew Meadowsong, to use her full title, had grown up in a peaceful environment, much like Kyra. She too had been taken as a slave only shortly before Kyra had. Sky had been caught by Mavarl's crew on the coast near the Mountain Fortress known as Salamandastron, her previous home.

Kyra and Sky, being of the same age and spirit, had become fast friends. The two were almost inseparable, as Kyra and Ronil had been.

Skythistle was almost the same size as Kyra was, with the typical long legs, long ears, and strange accent of the Mountain Hares of Salamandastron. Her sandy brown fur was normal, and the haremaid sported soft brown eyes. These carried a warmth and understanding that often comforted Kyra when she felt sad.

Still, Sky had a temper that was almost uncontrollable, and her soft, understanding eyes reflected nothing of the anger within her. Kyra had learned to control her emotions, to numb them. She was strong enough to try and hide her feelings, except to Sky. She did not get rid of her emotions- with out emotions, she would simply be a savage beast- but she could numb them and try to forget their existence.

However, Sky's fierce bouts of temper never seemed to last long, though they occurred frequently. Kyra was the opposite, rarely getting angry, but holding her anger inside the pit of her stomach for long periods of time. As they approached the field, the haremaid flashed her friend a grin. Kyra felt a warm smile spread across her own face in answer.

Dark, black-brown eyes met light, warm brown ones as the two grinned at each other, offering each other what little encouragement their souls could muster. The two friends took the scythes that the rat guards handed to them and headed out to the fields, following a vermin overseer to the patch that they were to work on that day.

Of course, with such weapons as these sturdily built scythes, rebellion would have seemed imminent! But with archers posted around the field at strategic stations, and the overseers with their whips prowling about the slaves as they worked, nobeast would have time to kill more than one or two guards before being subdued. This would most likely lead to days of torture and pain, and few looked forward to such treatment. No one tried anymore.

The bright sun crawled higher still in the morning sky, tinting the blue hued heavens around it a bright reddish golden color. Wispy white clouds floated above, with streaks of pink and blue light running through them. Normally, a sunrise and sunset would have been beautiful to watch. Kyra saw them every day, and to her, the red that was painted in the sky symbolized blood and death.

She could no longer see beauty in such things as nature.

The ottermaid ran a paw through the matted fur that covered her head, her paw slippery with the sweat that was already pouring down her face. She had grown accustomed to the immense heat, but being accustomed to the heat and enjoying the climate were different things.

Though the heat did not bother her nearly as much as it did when she had first come to the west, it was still an immense burden to her and the other slaves, even this early in the morning. Kyra did not even want to think about how much the heat would increase as the sun rose higher in the red golden sky. She did not want to reflect on the torture yet to come.

The blistering heat was possibly worse than the hard physical labor. Many creatures collapsed during the hottest hours of the day. When that happened, the vermin simply left them there, laying out in the fields. The slaves were not allowed to stop working, or to help them. If they did... Kyra gulped, not wanting to think about it.

She had enough trouble numbing her emotions as it was. Thinking of the pain ahead would not help her. Sky waggled her ears in a friendly manner and flashed her friend an encouraging smile as they worked their way farther into the fields to begin their work. "A bit chilly this time of year, Kys, eh wot! Y'cold, M'dear? Y'look as if you're shivering! I c'd do with a nice warm fire m'self, doncha know!"

Kyra grinned back. "A nice fire'd warm us right up, aye? If I didn' know better, I'd swear t'was goin' t'snow in weather like this. It's almost too cold t'work."

Sky could tell that she had cheered Kyra up somewhat, and remained silent as she and Kyra looked for a place to begin their work. Soon, they found a suitable patch to begin harvesting. Kyra grabbed Sky's paws in her own, ripped a bit of her tunic off, tore the strip she had obtained in half, and wrapped each part around one of the hares forepaws.

Sky did the same, tearing off a strip of her own dirty tunic and wrapping it around Kyra's forepaws. It was a ritual that the two followed every day. Creatures were likely to get blisters after working in the fields with a heavy wooden scythe all day.

The ragged cloth wasn't much protection against popping blisters and bloody paws, but it was better than nothing. Over many seasons, Kyra and Sky had both built up a layer of rough calluses on their paws, and their muscles had become accustomed to the painful daily work. In heavy rain, in blistering, scorching heat, and even in sickness and fever, they were forced to work.

There was no excuse for refusing to come to the fields each day. Those who were in no condition to work were killed. The pain that the hard work caused for the slaves was almost unbearable, but they did it anyway. It wouldn't take long for her paws to start bleeding, and so Kyra made sure to work as fast as she could so that she could get more work done before the blisters came.

The more work she did, the less the others had to do. The oldbeasts and the young were brought up to the palace to work because Mavarl could not get anything done with them in the fields. Why waste a healthy young body on cleaning and dusting when he could have the weak and old do it?

The slaves were expected to get a certain amount of labor done, and if that potential wasn't reached, they were all beaten, and sometimes were refused rations. Kyra did more than her fair share, and so did all of the younger and fitter beasts, to take off the burden from the old and weak.

Kyra hefted the weight of the well-made scythe in her paws and swung it in a smooth, clean motion. That particular swing had taken years to perfect, and now it came almost as naturally as breathing. The ottermaid's muscles had memorized the exact pattern in which a scythe was to be swung, and it now caused her no more effort than walking two paces.

But she knew that with the heat and blistered paws, this feeling of ease would soon go away. The soft shhhhht. . . shhhht. . . shhhhht. . . of the scythe as it connected with the flesh of the plants it was cutting lulled Kyra into a sense of monotony.

She snapped herself out of it. She had to keep thinking until the pain started. She couldn't let herself become bored. Otherwise, she would be more prone to making mistakes. Other creatures had chopped off entire limbs with the curved, shining blades that they were forced to wield simply because they hadn't been paying attention.

Once her paws were blistered and bleeding, she would have enough on her mind to keep her from being bored. For now, she had to distract herself. The ottermaid caressed the back of her neck with a wrapped paw, wiping off a thin layer of perspiration as she blinked the glare of the red sun out of her eyes. The fiery ball was now as evil to her as Mavarl was to all of the slaves.

The sun meant pain to her now. Kyra, now remembering exactly what she should be occupying her mind with, returned to the work with slightly more vigor. Thinking of her escape plans would keep her from falling into a half- asleep state. Besides, she needed to run it over in her head just one more time.

She was careful to avoid the eyes of any guards that passed, their matted fur reeking even more than the sweat-laden bodies of the slaves. Kyra hated the degree of uncleanliness that the slaves were forced to put up with. The Slave Compound was hardly ever cleaned, and they were hardly ever able to take baths, even in the sea.

Kyra remembered living at Holt Ruddaring, where she had hated baths and had done everything in her power to get out of them. Now, she felt differently about cleanliness. She scoffed, trying not to smile at the guards. They would surely think a smiling face among slaves odd, and she did not want to stick out in the least from the others that were bound to endure unending misery of slavery.

And to believe these disgusting vermin refused to take baths willingly? How could they stand it? Kyra only put up with the foul conditions of the slaves because she had to. The second she was free; she would make sure to take a long, thorough bath. Otters were meant to be in the water.

Kyra had to work even harder not to smile as she thought of her childhood. She often did, since it was the only time that she hadn't been a slave. She had hated baths then, and put up such a fuss whenever anybeast tried to force her to take one that most were too scared to do it.

It was an old nursemaid who had come up with a way to get her to take baths. Kyra, of course, admired the older otters of the Holt, and had wanted to be just like them. One day, her nursemaid gave her some cleaning materials, and said that if she used them regularly while she was swimming, it would make her swim even faster than she already did.

Kyra, not knowing any better at such a tender age, had agreed to take baths with the lavender soap oil and other supplies the old otterwife had given her, hoping to match the times of the older otter kits. She had, but that was most likely because of her prolonged time in the water, swimming and building muscles while she washed continuously to win every race.

Now, Kyra hadn't been swimming in seasons. Not a proper swim, anyway. Otters were not meant to be kept confined to the land all of the time. Swimming was in their blood, and Kyra yearned to be free to swim, laugh, and play again. And, with luck, that was just what she was going to do.

Kyra jolted herself from her revelry quickly. She shouldn't have lapsed into amusing memories like that! You had to pay attention, at least a little attention, to your work so that you didn't injure yourself! First, Kyra had tried to find thoughts to get lost in. Now, she had let her thoughts distract her. Kyra grimaced, biting her lip as she continued working.

Feeling a sickeningly thick and wet substance oozing down her arm, she turned it over to see a mixture of blood and puss from a blister running down her wrist. She growled and wiped it off. First blister. How many more today?

She hesitantly took off the dirty cloth that surrounded both her paws and winced as she looked at her paws. Many more blisters were about ready to pop, and her paws were bleeding from numerous scrapes and cuts despite her protective calluses and cloth bindings. She sighed, rewrapped her paws- tighter this time- and continued her painful work.

After a while, Kyra could stand it no longer. She just had to tell Sky about her plans! The ottermaid felt like she was a bubble close to bursting. The plan she had come up with was simple to tell. They would pick the lock on the strange eagle-slave's cage and send it for help while they stirred up rebellion right under Mavarl's very nose.

Now, the hard part would be to find a way to tell Sky of this scheme while they were working in the fields. Of course, Kyra could have easily waited until later that night, but she was beginning to grow impatient. After all, she had waited seasons for this.

She quickly came up with a suitable plan. The vermin wouldn't think much of a small argument between slaves, would they? Keeping her plan in mind, Kyra slowly made her way up to Sky, swinging her scythe all the while. Telling the haremaid of her intended plan would be too risky outright, but in the guise of a well-staged argument, it might just work.

Kyra grinned as she grew closer to her friend. Sky was never far off from her in the fields. Kyra, taking in a deep breath, pretended to jump back. Sky was alarmed, for she hadn't yet caught on to Kyra's plan. She feared that she had hurt Kyra with her scythe. It was not an uncommon occurrence for one beast to injure another with the deadly metal blades.

"You long eared idiot! Kyra said in a rather loud tone, "what d'you think yore doin'? You almos' chopped of my rudder with your scythe, y'great dolt! Be careful where you're swingin' that thing, eh?" Kyra managed to give Sky a wink.

Sky knew exactly what Kyra was trying to do. "Dolt yourself, ruddertail! If you hadn't been in my bloody way, none of this would have happened, wot! Let a poor chapess alone t'do her slaves work, eh?" Kyra grinned, continuing the mock fight. The otter glared at the haremaid, an expression of false indignation and anger distorting her features. Sky was impressed by the otters acting skills in spite of herself.

"No, I won't let you alone. If you don't watch out, Skythistle, I'll get my revenge. If you aren't careful, I'll use this scythe and chop you up and feed you to that bloody great eagle." Here, she brought around the subject on which her plan was based.

Sky understood Kyra perfectly. "How'll you unlock the cage?" she taunted, "a weak otterling like you, wot! Couldn't even make me break a sweat if y'were t'fight me, doncha know. Now lemme alone, rudderbrain. The sooner we get this lot cleared, the sooner I get my food."

"Ha!" retorted Kyra, thoroughly pleased that her message was going through. "Just you watch out, Skythistle. I'll pick the lock meself, an' feed you in little tidbits to him. Bet you anythin' he'd do whatever I asked him after eatin' such a tasty thing as you and getting his freedom." Sky smiled, and nodded at Kyra. She understood. The message was clear.

Kyra, with Sky's help, would pick the lock on the eagle's cage. She would feed the eagle from their meager rations, and gain a favor. Perfect. Hardly anyone had been listening, and those that had thought nothing of the conversation. Not even the slaves. Sky was satisfied. She decided to finish off the argument with a flare, and continue her work.

"Well, Waterhound, be on your way. Y'can't do anything to me. Get away before I forget about the torture ahead an' use this Scythe on you, eh wot!" Kyra grinned. Sky managed to murmur a quick phrase before her otter friend left. 'Meet me outside the compound after dinner.' Kyra nodded, and continued her work. Sky smiled. Kyra's plan had worked.

The rest of the day wore on, but Kyra hardly noticed it's slow passing. Though she had thought up the plan a long time ago, she hadn't really taken hope from it before this very moment. Now that another creature was involved, the otter felt confidence flow through her as if it were a drug. That night, her plans for Rebellion would start at last!

Even the pain surging through her paws and arm muscles was hardly noticeable. She was accustomed to it anyway. It was amazing what a little confidence could do for someone as miserable as a slave. The sun no longer seemed a torture, but a bright beacon of hope, floating high in the sky and urging Kyra on with her plans.

Soon, she thought to herself as she looked up at it, soon. All that she had to do was wait for the day to be over; wait for the sun to set. She smiled slightly, a rare enough occurrence for a slave who had been imprisoned in body and spirit for over eight seasons. Kyra Longfletch smiled for the first time in a long time. The possibility of freedom was real for her now, as real as she was.

The sun sank lower in the sky, and the only reason Kyra noticed that her paws had started bleeding with renewed vigor was the feel of blood running down her arm and dripping onto her scythe. Kyra sighed, shook her head, and unwrapped her paws. The smell of bleeding flesh was repugnant to her nostrils, but she couldn't do anything until she got her daily water ration.

She would then clean her paws. . . and hardly get a drop to drink. They were worse than usual today. Kyra could only blow on her hands, caress them tenderly, add a little saliva to them, and wrap them even tighter than before. Hopefully her wounds would stop bleeding soon after the work ended.

Kyra's attention was soon drawn away from her bleeding paws as she thought about the coming night. Soon, with luck- she dared even think about this possibility often- she would be free! Kyra could hardly imagine freedom, even though she had experienced it while some other slaves hadn't ever seen anything but Fortguard.

She couldn't help feeling even sorrier for them than she did for herself. The road would be hard, the pain would most likely be intolerable, and the journey would be filled with thorns and obstacles. But her determination was great, her body was strong, her heart was ready for all that was to come, she had a friend to stand by her, and a dream.

Kyra felt her heart lurch in her breast as she watched the sun sink lower and lower and lower in the sky.

The shhhht. . . shhhht. . . shhhhht. . . of the scythe seemed to urge the sun onward on it's western journey. Kyra's own mental powers- wishing for night to fall- seemed to be apparent to the great celestial orb, and it was soon sinking beneath the horizon. Then, the thing Kyra had been waiting for all day came. The overseer gave a sharp whistle, and the guards began to round up the slaves.

The area for the day had been cleared, and it was time to head back for the compound. Kyra felt the newly cleared and fertile ground with her footpaws, enjoying the feeling of the freshly tilled soil. Soon, she thought, soon. She pushed her way into the slave compound, yawning. Soon, with luck. Soon. Soon.

Vaguely, Kyra wondered how many times she had thought of that same word throughout the day. Many times, she knew. It symbolized hope. Maybe someday in the near future, the word 'soon' would become the word 'now'. She was determined to try and make 'soon' a possibility, even if it cost her life.

Kyra rubbed her eyes, and winced as she remembered her sore paws. The reminder was a painful one. Shaking her head at her mistake, she put them in her mouth, despite the dirty and bloody bandages, and stepped in to tend to them.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

It did not take long for the slaves to get to their compound. Tired though they were, the slaves all used their last strength to reach their shelter as rapidly as possible. All were anxious to sleep, lick their wounds, and eat the day's meal. Therefore, they didn't cause much trouble on the walk back.  
  
They were tired and hardly able to pick up one foot after another, but they didn't seem to notice this as they plodded on drearily, half unconscious because of the hard work that they had done that day. They simply wanted to be able to escape into their dreams.  
  
Soon, the compound loomed in front of them. Kyra sat in a corner, Sky next to her, and both received their meals. Each one was given the simple and tiny dinners that they received every night. It was hardly enough to keep skin and bones together: A crust of bread, a smallish wedge of cheese, and a mug of water a piece. Kyra smiled. They had been given a big dinner that night!  
  
Kyra sighed, picking up her mug and taking only a small sip. She was amazingly dehydrated, but there was nothing for it. She had to use some of her water ration to tend to her bleeding paws. The ottermaid looked at the water longingly, looked away, and poured it over her paws. Kyra winced as she felt the cold water run over the raw flesh of her pads.  
  
She sighed and rubbed her paws together over her head, making sure that she caught every drop of water that fell from her sore and bloody paws in her mouth. It would be another day before she would get another drink. She saw Sky drinking her water and grinned, licking her lips in the most pathetic way she could.  
  
Sky grinned back and drained the last of her cup with a smug look. "You didn't expect me to give you my bally water, did you? How m'I s'posed to keep skin an' bones t'gether without food 'n drink, eh wot! Need m'tuck, doncha know."  
  
Kyra grinned, knowing that Sky probably couldn't go a day without water. She couldn't either. Normally, she would have liked to use all of the water to tend her paws, but she had to drink some, or collapse from dehydration the next day. Many creatures made that fatal mistake. Water was essential for the hot day's labor. If you didn't drink enough, you died.  
  
It was that simple, one of the laws of nature. Their small ration of water had to serve many purposes, including the washing out of any wounds that they acquired during the day. Kyra sighed and turned away from Sky, leaning against the rough wall of the compound and responding in a dry and nonchalant way.  
  
"Aye, Skysthistle. Y'need t'keep all o' your five different stomachs t'gether too, doncha Meadowsong? I've 'eard of hares 'avin' four stomachs, but knowin' you, y'must have an extra."  
  
Sky glared at her friend in mock exasperation and tried her best to look indignant and grievously insulted or wronged. Kyra yawned and pretended to ignore her. Sky decided to respond to Kyra's boredom with a sharp witticism. That would wake her up right enough!  
  
"Only five stomachs, m'dear Riverdog?" She asked innocently. "That's nothing compared to the amount that most Riverdogs have, I hear. Five stomachs is healthy for a hare, eh wot! And besides, if a skinny little ragbag like m'self has five bloomin' stomachs, how many does a certain ottermaid named Kys have, I wonder. Six? Seven, even? She must have more than me! She's nice 'n fat while her best friend Sky is skin 'n bones! Us growin' beasts need our food, doncha know, unlike big fat lumps that call themselves otters!"  
  
Kyra tried hard to keep back tears of laughter, and failed utterly. Even during the darkest days, Sky could always find a witty comment to cheer Kyra up. That was one of Sky's greatest talents. She never let her sadness show. Now, Kyra mused, if the haremaid could only do the same thing with her rather impulsive anger, than everything would be perfect!  
  
She considered voicing this comment aloud. . . and then decided against it. Kyra enjoyed her verbal battles with her dear friend more than anything else at the Slave Compound. They took her mind off of the hard life that she and her friends and fellow slaves were forced to lead. They comforted her in a strange way, though she didn't know exactly why or how.  
  
"You? The one who has a million stomachs at least, sayin' her poor skinny H'Otter friend has only six or seven pitiful excuses for stomachs?" Kyra questioned. "I doubt you c'n even save your food for later tonight, y'great gluttonous longears!"  
  
Sky grinned back and glanced about the slave compound. Most of the slaves were occupied, and the guards were already positioned at their stations, which were on either side of the door at front of the slave enclosure. They were free to move about the slave's quarters. As long as they didn't leave, and as long as they were silent and made sure they were not easily visible, they would be fine.  
  
Kyra gave a small gesture with her head, nodding her understanding. It was time to put their plan into action. On impulse, both stood up together, staying against the shadows and pressing their soft flesh against the hard, rough walls of the slave compound.  
  
They moved out of the compound as softly and quietly as they could. Still being careful, the two friends ran forwards as stealthily as possible, their eyes darting around to make sure that no one was watching them.  
  
Kyra felt the earth with her paws, making sure that she wouldn't trip, and turned to Sky, asking whether anybeast had noticed them. Sky read the message there as clearly as if it had been spoken. She shook her head, mouthing the word 'No'. Kyra smiled at her, nodding. Both continued forwards.  
  
Reassuring themselves of their concealment, they continued onward until they deemed it safe to walk normally and talk. Anyone who saw them would think that they were out for a stroll. Kyra looked at the crust and cheese that she held in her paws longingly. She couldn't eat it, no matter how hungry she was. That food was for the eagle, just in case his freedom was not enough to convince him.  
  
One never knew with birds. She sighed and admired the yellow wedge of cheese, mouth salivating. Sky saw her and laughed. "You look like a family of hedgehogs that haven't eaten in a bloomin' season, eh wot!"  
  
Kyra glared, tearing her eyes regretfully away from the small morsels that she held cupped in her paws. These small crusts were her only ration for the rest of the day. She wouldn't get any more food until the next evening, after another day of hard work and painful sweat. But sacrifices had to be made for the sake of freedom.  
  
If she had to starve one night to get rid of Mavarl, she would starve. She would go hungry for a season if she had to, anything to get freedom. She would die before the season was up, of course, but she would try. Though she acted it, Kyra wasn't mad at Sky. Sky's remarks had given her spirit. Besides, a good argument would take her mind off of the food she was missing.  
  
She gave her friend a mock look of extreme annoyance and gasped as if in offence. "Alright, y'great gluttonous foodbag," she retorted, "why don't ye gimme yer food t'carry to that bird. Never trust an 'are with a meal, eh?"  
  
Sky, catching on to Kyra's joke, gave an equally offended look back to her best friend and constant tormentor. She glared at her friend, and clutched the food to her chest, eyebrows raised over her warm gray eyes higher than could be believed possible.  
  
"Lissen, you great riverdog, otters aren't known to live on water 'n crumbs either, doncha know! How do I know y'wont scoff my bally share before we reach the great eaglethingummy, eh? Great pig, you are, m'dear h'ottermaid! A scone wouldn't last more than two ticks around your type, y'great grubsnatcher."  
  
"Speak for yourself! Grubsnatcher indeed! Hares are the greatest stealers o' tuck ever to walk the planet! I've got an idea, greedyguts. We'll each carry our own ration o' food. That way, if anything be missing from your food, I'll know that you ate it, and you can't blame me for your dirty work! Wouldn't be surprised if all of your rations were gone before we'd gotten half way to that great eagle's cage."  
  
The ottermaiden tried desperately to ignore the rumbling in her stomach as she walked on sore footpaws towards the shadowy edge of the slave compound. The slaves all lived in the center in a few hastily constructed piles of rubbish, but a few various slaves were kept separate for Lord Mavarl's pleasure. The eagle was one of them.  
  
Broken bits of junk were scattered around the compound. Some twisted wire, some pebbles, and some pieces of cloth. The slaves didn't bother to keep their quarters clean, and Lord Mavarl certainly didn't care about their hygiene. Both Kyra and Sky stumbled through the trash and across the uneven ground in the murky darkness of the twilight hours.  
  
It was humid, and insects of all sorts bit at them and flew about their heads and faces. Not that Sky or Kyra minded much. They were used to this place. Sky had hardly known any other life, and neither had Kyra, who had only spent her dibbunhood in freedom.  
  
The insects were a great annoyance- so were blistered paws, sore muscles, little food, and scorching heat- but all were a part of life at Fortguard. One must adjust or die. Kyra and Sky were both survivors and had submitted to the harsh conditions, however unwillingly. Both knew no way of improving things, and even suggesting ideas could mean death for them. Gruesome death.  
  
And so, they put up with constant physical and mental abuse. What else could they do besides curl up in a corner and die? Both had considered the option, but it hadn't appealed to either of them. They were absolutely silent as they approached the cage where Mavarl kept the eagle. Kyra pitied the magnificent golden bird, though she had only seen it from afar before now.  
  
She couldn't even make it out in the darkness, trapped in the ebon hued shadows of its prison. True, the eagle didn't have to work, but starvation and pain were it's daily rations. Kyra was grateful that she wasn't being kept in a small, cramped cage. The Rat Warlord liked to take spears from his guards and poke them through the bars of the cage. Kyra shuddered.  
  
That eagle would be glad to be free, but glad enough to do them a favor?  
  
Kyra stepped forwards, whispering so that only the eagle could hear her, "It's alright, birdie. I have food for you." Kyra put a piece of the bread and a wedge of the cheese in one paw and slowly pushed it through the bars of the cage.  
  
She could hear her heart pounding in her chest, and could feel her throat go dry as she waited for some response from within. A squawk of hatred? Of thanks? The sounds of a beak cutting through food? She yanked her paw back as a tawny eye opened, and a yellow beak neatly snatched the food from her paw.  
  
Though she didn't show any outward signs of fear, she felt her heart hammering in her breast as if it was going to explode. She took a deep breath and looked again into the darkness of the cage. The shadows seemed to have wound themselves into every corner, and made it almost impossible to see. The pair of tawny eyes that presumably belonged to the eagle opened wider in a menacing way.  
  
Kyra began having second thoughts.  
  
"Och!" said a voice from inside the cage, "ah thank ye kindly for the vittles y'have spared me. Mah name be MacPhearsome the Tenth, Wild king o' th' Northern Mountains, d'ye ken?" Kyra listened in wonder to the eagle's voice. What a strange accent! But she could understand the strange golden eagles speech to an extent.  
  
She vaguely recognized the accent as one belonging to the northern peoples: vermin and fierce raptor birds mostly. The creatures of the northlands were a strange lot, bloodthirsty and rugged. The northlanders were warlike. Up there, conditions were harsh. It was either kill, or be killed in their environment.  
  
Many of the enemy hordes that so often plagued Mossflower Wood, a place far across the sea from this island, came from the barbaric north. The harsh and cold land trained equally harsh and cold warriors in its depths. It was a wild and unexplored place, where anything might happen.  
  
Kyra did have a rather heavy accent of her own, though it seemed nothing compared to this one, and found that she was rather good at communicating with the strange bird. After all, she had been forced to adjust to all sorts of different accents. Each slave spoke in their own unique way, and Kyra had to understand them all.  
  
Sky had a peculiar accent of her own, though it was common among other hares. Kyra's was an odd mix of Sea Otter, Vermin, and Slave. She took yet another deep breath and spoke in an awkwardly loud voice, as some people do when they think someone might not understand them.  
  
"Well hello there, Wild King MacPhearsome. My name be Kyrani Longfletch, Daughter o' Ironjaw Trueflight, the son of Grath and Inbarr Trueflight and the Skipper of Sea Otters. This hare is m'friend Sk-"  
  
Kyra closed her mouth at a very affronted and upset look from Sky and had to try hard to keep from laughing. The haremaid liked to introduce herself and enjoyed adding a lot of flourishes to her own greetings. Sky rolled her eyes, smiling.  
  
"I'm not a bally idiot, Kyra! I can tell the big birdy m'own name, riverhound. I think I c'n form a sentence t'gether. Now, if you'll let me continue!" Kyra stifled a giggle with her paw, and motioned dramatically for Sky to speak. The haremaid glared.  
  
Kyra couldn't help adding in a sarcastic comment. "I doubt it'll be jus' a sentence, Skythistle. An' as for bein' smart enough t'say yer own name. . . y'could have fooled me, the way you act sometimes." Kyra let a few soft giggles emit from her paw-covered mouth before she was silenced by Sky's facial expression.  
  
Sky glared at Kyra, and said in a frosty tone, "I can speak for meself, Kyra m'dear riverwalloper! Well, MacThingummy, My name is Skythistle Mornin'dew Meadowsong from th' bally ol' mountain o' Salamandastron, eh wot! Ever heard of the term Perilous Hare? Well, m'friend, Miss Skythistle invented an' perfected it, wot wot! Just Sky f'short if y'don't mind. Righto MacWhatsyourname, we have a proposition for you, don't we Kyra?"  
  
Kyra nodded, grabbing the rest of the food from Sky before the haremaid could protest. "Aye, so we do! Well, MacPhearsome, our proposition is this: we let you out of that cage and give you the rest of our food, and then you fly out to my family's Holt, and to Salamandastron the Mountain Fortress, and you get my father Ironjaw and the current Badger Lord to come and help us. We're goin' to lead a rebellion here and overthrow Lord Mavarl. Will you do this for us?"  
  
The eagle blinked his tawny colored eyes, and nodded once before answering in his peculiar dialect.  
  
"Aye, ah'll do et fer you two beasts. Iff'n you let MacPhearsome out o' this cage, ah'll go an' find help for ye. Ah'd go anywhere ye'd bloody well please t'be free, riverdog! I be not doin' et tah make ye happy, remember! Ah be doin' this tah get mah revenge on Mavarl. Tha' rat's starved this eagle far to long! May ah ask how ye are plannin' to get me out o' this cage, nau?"  
  
Sky smiled and pulled out a long splinter of wood from under the rags she wore, and held it up so that MacPhearsome could see it in the moonlight. She hadn't really thought about how to get the eagle out of his barred prison until that afternoon when she was walking back to the slave compound from the fields with Kyra, but she had found the handy splinter by chance on her way and had eagerly scooped it up.  
  
As soon as she had seen it, a small plan had formed in her mind. And anyway, if she and Kyra couldn't free MacPhearsome that night, there would be other opportunities. This had to be done perfectly, or else the whole plan would crumble to pieces. She leaned in closer to the cage, and whispered her plan to the great golden head of the eagle.  
  
He cocked his head, and listened as Sky laid out her simple, but easy to perform plan. "MacPhearsome, we're going to stick this piece o' wood in the handle of the padlock, and press upwards until it opens, eh wot! That ol' locks got t'be rusty, and it'll snap if it's done right!"  
  
Kyra rolled her eyes, trying to tell Sky that a wooden splinter would not under any circumstances break a metal lock, but Sky was impulsive, and when she latched onto an idea, she kept with it. Besides, Kyra didn't know how to free MacPhearsome herself, and if Sky had an idea, they might as well try it.  
  
Without saying any more, the haremaid took the splinter and stuck it over the lock, and under the arch that held the lock on the cage door handle. Sky pressed upwards, and felt the pressure as the wood pressed down against the lock, and up against the metal arch that held it onto the door at the same time.  
  
Of course, Kyra knew that a splinter would not break a metal lock, and deep down, Sky knew it too. She was too clever to think that it would succeed. Still, it had been a wild hope that the haremaid could not resist trying. However, luck was on her side it seemed, for just as she was about to give up, the splinter- sturdy though it was, snapped in half, sending her flying, and pulling the cage over with her.  
  
And then another stroke of luck came upon them, for the lock smashed against a rock deeply embedded into the ground, breaking it completely. Sky stepped forwards and found the handle with her paw in the moonlight.  
  
The young haremaid held her breath as she slowly pulled open the door to MacPhearsome's cage. CRASH! BANG! BOOM! WOOSH!" MacPhearsome flew out of the cage where he had been imprisoned by Lord Mavarl and landed with a gust of air from his mighty wings.  
  
Kyra, who had toppled over from the force of the crashing cage, leapt too her feet and stared with undisguised wonder and awe at the mighty creature that stood before her now. MacPhearsome was a large Golden Eagle, with glistening feathers and a proud head, sporting a large hooked beak, which he clacked irritably.  
  
He was large enough for even a fully grown otter like Kyra to ride! MacPhearsome closed his mighty wings, and ruffled his feathers as he turned his great tawny eyes to the staring ottermaid slave. "Och, so you be Kyra Longfletch," he commented, studying her closely.  
  
"D'you have any more food lassie? I be fair starved after th' way Lord Mavarl treated me these long days! He starved me, wi' barely a morsel tah eat fer me, an' poked at me wi' spears, d'ye ken? Ah'll help ye t'overthrow that evil rat, so I will! He'll never mess wi' a King o' th' Northern Mountains again!"  
  
Kyra slowly got to her feet and looked at King MacPhearsome. "Aye, I do 'ave some food left." Kyra dropped the remaining bread and cheese upon the ground and watched as the Eagle ate them up ravenously. She nudged Sky, who was standing speechless next to her, and winked. "That bird eats more 'n you do, you 'orrible 'aremaid! He's worse 'n any Salamandastron 'are I reckon!"  
  
Sky puffed out her chest and drew herself up proudly. "That bird may eat a lot, but no MacThingummy King can outscoff a Salamandastron Hare, eh wot!" she grinned back at Kyra, before asking the Eagle, "I say, MacThingummy, ol' bean, d'you know where Salamandastron is? I daresay they'll give you vittles aplenty, and give you directions to Kyra's old Holt, Ruddathing."  
  
"Ruddaring!" Kyra said, glaring at Sky.  
  
"Ruddaring, then" Sky said, defiantly. "Well, the Badgerlord there'll know where Holt Ruddaring is, and the Long Patrol and the Otters can come an' bally rescue us while we lead our own little rebellion in the Castle. Sound good, ol' chap? I think 'tis a jolly good plan myself."  
  
Kyra winked at the bird and pretended to whisper, even though she made sure that Sky heard every word. "Sky, th' braggart! T'was my plan in the first place anyways. I thought it up. Th' great Long Eared. . ."  
  
The ottermaid was then neatly cut off as she felt Sky's cold gaze upon the back of her neck. She lifted her head and put her hands on her hips as she shook her head in mock exasperation. "Don' want me takin' credit fer stuff I did, eh Sky?"  
  
Sky reddened, but, since she was a hare, didn't keep her mouth shut for long. "I bally well think you should take credit. 'Specially if this whole plan blows up in our faces, wot! Don't want t'ruin my good looks doncha know. You don't seem to have any good looks to lose, do you m'dear riverdog!"  
  
Kyra only smiled. She was used to Sky's taunting, and instead of giving a sharp retort, added a dry and somewhat amusing comment. "Impossible for either of us to look good our best in these conditions. S'why we have to go an' get rid of Mavarl; so we c'n be pretty again an' get some meat on our bones an' some food inter our thousands of stomachs, eh Sky?"  
  
Sky grinned and nodded in agreement. Though Kyra's comment was made in a joke like mannerism, she had meant every word, and there was a deeper meaning to it. MacPhearsome, deciding to stop the mock argument, nodded as he finished eating the bread and cheese that the two friends had provided for him.  
  
"Och, ah'll be sure t'go to yon fortress. Ah know where it lies weel enough. After ah go there, ah'll get directions to yer otter friends, an' tell 'em t'come and save ye. Ah've eaten yon vittles, an' must start mah flight. MacPhearsome never breaks a promise! KYEEEEAAAAAAR!"  
  
With this last screech, the great golden eagle launched himself into the air and flew out over Castle Fortguard and towards the sea. Kyra slung a companionable arm about Sky's shoulders and strained her eyes to get a final glimpse of MacPhearsome. "D'you think 'e'll do as 'e promised an' bring help?" she asked.  
  
Sky nodded, and grinned up at Kyra. "O' course the bally great birdie Thingummy will! Lets get back 'fore Somebeast notices we're gone!"


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

It did not take long for Sky and Kyra to return to the compound after their adventure with MacPhearsome. The two slunk towards the area where all the slaves were gathered. The shelter was rather pitiful, Kyra noted as she observed it in the pale moonlight that now shone over Fortguard and the entire Island.  
  
It was simply a shamble of broken sticks and twigs and tools scattered around a rather flimsy looking roof and walls. It looked more like a cardboard box than a shelter, but nonetheless, the slaves all lived there.  
  
Kyra did not want to try and picture the scene that might greet them on the inside of this place, a ragtag group of infants and oldbeasts alike, clinging to each other, sniffing curiously about the shelter and compound for food, even though there was no food to be found. A world like this was not a world that Kyra wished others to live in. That was why she had to change things.  
  
The ottermaid cast Sky a glance and raised an eyebrow. In a soft voice, she whispered a question that had been jumping about in her mind for the past few moments. "How're we going to do it?" The question was simple, only six words or so, but those words carried a meaning that was deeper than any Kyra had spoken in a very long time.  
  
Sky knew this. Kyra's meaning was plain enough. How were they going to get the slaves to join forces with them, how were they going to get the other pitiful and subservient slaves to join them in arms? How were they possibly going to convince a pitiful group of starved slaves to charge against fully trained and armed horderats that they had been forced to bow to all their lives?  
  
Sky didn't know. The haremaid waggled her ears and twitched her nose comically, trying to lighten the mood. She did not succeed unfortunately. Kyra was simply not to be cheered by such endeavors. Once the ottermaid latched onto an idea, she never let go of it until it was fully formed and had been put into action.  
  
Sky sighed, and shook her head at her friend. "I dunno, Kys. I dunno. Should we just outright tell 'em, or should we wait 'till MacPhearsome comes back? Should we not tell 'em at all 'till the attack? What can we possibly do to convince them to join us?"  
  
Kyra shrugged, lifting a sore paw to her face, scratching nonchalantly at an insect bite that had been gained during the journey to MacPhearsome's Cage.  
  
"Well," she said at great length, trying to think before she spoke, "we can't just hand 'em weapons an' say, 'C'mon you sloppy lot, let's go out there an' fight some horderats for our freedom!' They'll think we're crazy. We've got to tell 'em."  
  
"The problem is," she said, pausing, "that they might not want to rebel. They might be too scared to do summat like this, y'know? And we'd also have to be careful of spies an' leaks. Even beasts who mean well might let sommat slip."  
  
"We'll have to trust them," Sky stated firmly. "We don't know how long MacPhearsome will take. We might need their cooperation to communicate with the bally great Thingummy when he gets here, wot. Besides, they might need time to get used to the idea that we're goin' to rebel, whether they want to join us or not."  
  
Sky looked at Kyra, her expression displaying a worried, haggard look. "We will rebel, won't we, Kys? I'm not goin' to let these flippin' vermin cads order me around all of my life, doncha know! Not the Salamandastron way, wot! I can't live like this, Kyra. Can't live th'slave's life for too long. My spirit isn't meant to be abused. It can't survive."  
  
Kyra nodded, understanding perfectly. "Y'know Sky," she said wistfully and with a note of nostalgia in her tone, "you prolly feel th'same way H'I do, mate. I feel like I'm in a cage. It ain't got any visible walls or doors. Well, mebbe the Slave Compound has walls an' doors, but those aren't the type H'I mean. I mean th'kind that hate c'n put around your soul. Goodbeast's souls aren't meant to be kept in cages all the time. They're meant to be free so they c'n soar and dance in the clouds."  
  
Kyra stopped, thinking about what she had just said. "Who'da thought. Me, talking in poetic phrases..."  
  
Sky grinned at her. "Ah, Kys, t'wasn't that bad. Jolly good thing to lift up the spirits, eh eh. Use it on the slaves when we talk to the blighters. They'll need flowery rot like that to keep their spirits up when times are low... and yes, I fear that times shall be very low in th'near future. No point in denying it, wot."  
  
Kyra smiled, trying to numb the emotions rising in her chest. They were a dreadful mix indeed. She was worried, worried that they would be caught, worried that MacPhearsome would betray them, or that he might not get the message through. She was worried about the slaves reaction to the rebellion they were planning, and she was worried about her own fate if it should fail.  
  
Would Mavarl torture her in ways beyond her comprehension? Would she die fighting gallantly as a warrior? She hoped so. Kyra thought about this. If she was to die, she finally decided, than she was going to die like a true warrior and a fighter that would have made her father proud.  
  
Simply thinking about her father and the rest of the family that she had left behind brought on another and entirely different onslaught of emotions and she quickly tried to dismiss these thoughts. Sky put a reassuring paw on the ottermaid's shoulder. Sky often worried about Kyra, and she knew that Kyra often worried about her too.  
  
Still, the two friends could do little to comfort each other on the whole. There was just so much sadness to try and forget. . . so much sadness to try and ignore. . . Sky sighed. It was hard to numb emotions, especially really painful ones. Unfortunately, really painful emotions were common in the lives of the slaves at Fortguard.  
  
And so, the slaves had learned to harden their hearts and to try to keep faith despite the oppressive and painful society that they lived in. Sky did not think of these things though. She had had season after season to consider and fully digest them. She was now sick of the taste that they brought to her mouth.  
  
She sighed, grinning slightly. Kyra couldn't help it, and grinned back. "C'mon, Kys," Sky urged her friend. "Cheer up. . . for them. They need us, you 'n me. They need us, and we can't act like a dizzy family of dormice after too much October Ale, wot!"  
  
Kyra's grin widened. "Aye. Or like a family of 'edge'ogs that was sentenced to death by drownin' in Strawberry Cordial or Dannelion Fizz." She paused to try and prevent the giggles that were straining to free themselves from the recesses of her throat.  
  
"We've got to stay strong for those slaves so they c'n see what it's like to drown in any drink of their choice. Imagine never tastin' October Ale! I couldn't imagine life without it, c'd you, matey?"  
  
Sky shook her head. "I certainly couldn't! Now, it's our job to make sure those slaves get at taste of the bally wonderful stuff! Y'can't live life without it, to be sure, eh wot! It's our duty as Warriors and Just Creatures to make sure that those elders get a taste of October Ale to wet their whiskers before long instead of a sip of water. Redwall's got food apleanty. We'll bring 'em there."  
  
At the mention of Redwall, Kyra grew silent. She had never yet been to Redwall in all her seasons, though she had known about it from earliest childhood. Redwall was in many of the lessons that she had been taught as a dibbun, and it was even a part of her own Granddam and Grandsire's tale. Also, Sky had been there as a babe, though only for visits.  
  
Kyra loved listening to the haremaid paint a portrait of the glorious place with her words and what few memories she could cobble together. Kyra looked over at her friend imploringly, her eyes begging for more of the stories that Sky told. They were one of the things that kept her morale and hopes high, even in the dark nights at Fortguard. "Please Sky," she asked softly, "tell me about Redwall."  
  
Sky sighed, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. "But I've told you about th' Abbey more times than both you and I can remember. You've bally well heard my stories enough times to last you three lifetimes, wot! Get on with you, ruddertail, and let's get back to the compound. Kyra, you've heard my stories so many times that I bally well think you've memorized every bloody one. Go an' tell 'em to yourself."  
  
Kyra shook her head. "I never get tired of your stories of Redwall, Sky," Kyra stated simply. "Please tell one to me. Please? Just one long enough to get me to the compound. You may think your stories are pointless rubbish of the past, but they aren't to me." She looked Sky straight in her warm gray eyes.  
  
"They give me hope. They tell me that there is a place where creatures are peaceful and free to do as they choose. You won't deny me a bit of hope, Sky, will ye? Don' go an' be all sore about it. If anyone needs hope right now, it's us. We're the ones leading this crazy rebellion scheme, y'know. We're most likely going to die."  
  
Sky snorted. "Better death than this," she spat, gesticulating at the rubbish that lay scattered about the pair of them. "Filth, slavery, torture, I'd sooner be rid of it all. But, if you insist, I'll tell you a story while we walk, Kys. No more though, y'great greedy riverdog. We have work to do tonight."  
  
Kyra looked at the haremaid uneasily. "Do we have to do it tonight? I'm still not sure-"  
  
Sky cut her off. "Do shut up, Water walloper" And then, the two were at the compound. Sky grinned at her smugly. "Ha! Y'don't get a story, Kyra. We're already there." Kyra gave Sky a pathetically disappointed look.  
  
Sky sighed, rolled her eyes, and grinned. "I'll tell you a story after we tell the slaves our plans. Deal, Kys?" Kyra nodded her head, smiling slightly. Around the slave compound, all of the different slaves were talking and whispering amongst themselves, eyes darting about, piercing the smothering darkness that surrounded them.  
  
All felt a nervous tension, making the muscles in their stomachs squeeze and their heads pound slightly. Their paws never seemed to rest, but instead twirled around each other, or fumbled while trying to adjust torn up rags that were worn as tunics.  
  
Nobeast was still. That is, nobeast except for Kyra Longfletch. She sat in a corner, looking on as the creatures began to enjoy their nightly relaxation- which didn't last long- before the slavers came in to whip them. Many were still finishing dinner, trying to draw the delicious delight of food out for as long as possible.  
  
Still, the temptation to eat was too strong for some, and their food was completely gone. Mothers had wrapped their arms about their children, holding them close and trying to comfort them as they cried. Kyra took it all in. With a sigh, she cast a glance at her haremaid friend. "You sure we sh'd we tell 'em tonight, Sky?"  
  
The sandy furred haremaid could only shrug, staring quietly down at the slim remainder of her own meal. "No better time than th'present, doncha know. B'sides, the sooner they know, th' better chance we have of being prepared." Sighing deeply she stands, trademark grin flashing across her face once again. "Soon we'll be free, Kyra."  
  
Kyra shrugged, looking at the slaves, eyeing them dubiously, and with intense scrutiny. She leaned in closer to Sky, still making sure to keep a good vigil on their surroundings to make sure that no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. One slip up, and the'd be in Mavarl's dungeon instead of on a ship towards their homes.  
  
The ottermaid looked around, casting a last furtive glance about them, and whispered, "what about spies, eh, Sky? We'll be in great trouble if we're caught. If we tell them too soon, a spy will have ample time t'report t'Mavarl. Even one of the goodbeasts might slip. Secrets get around in this place faster 'n fever does. Still... they need t'know..."  
  
Skythistle again shrugged, shooting a quick glance around the slave complex to assure herself they were not being watched before pulling a small dagger from her tunic. Silently she began to sharpen the blade, grinning grimly. "You leave any spies t'me, Kys. Accordin' t'MacPhearsome, th'Patrols an' Otters'll be arriving soon. The slaves haveta know what to expect."  
  
Kyra stared at the haremaid in disbelief, her eyes bugging out as she looked at the dagger. "Sky," she said in an awed voice, "how'd you get that, mate? And why by the claws of Hellthunder didn't you use it when we tried to unlock MacPhearsome's cage, y'idiot? T'would have made it a lot less painful for the both of us, using that branch instead."  
  
Sky smirked and twirled her newly acquired dagger around in her paws. "Stole it," the haremaid said smugly. Kyra glared at the haremaid. Sky grinned rather sheepishly and adjusted her story. "Fine, y'great lump of a riverdog! I picked it up. An idiotic rat dropped it on the way to the fields. Know when I bent to pick up that branch? The big oaf kicked me and almost fell over. And I forgot I had it. . ."  
  
Kyra glared at the haremaid and rolled her eyes. "How could you forget? And when am I gonna get my story?"  
  
"Too late," Sky smirked as the pair continued walking. "We've reached the slave compound." Kyra sulked inwardly, but didn't comment. She knew that complaining to Sky would only make the haremaid laugh. The haremaid quickly glanced around, making sure that they weren't being watched.  
  
Kyra joined her, and when both creatures had vigilantly scanned the area, they felt secure enough to step inside the compound. No one noticed as they entered. Kyra and Sky went straight to the center of the compound without conferring with each other first. They both knew what had to be done. They had to tell the slaves of the rebellion that they were about to cook up, and they had to tell the slaves that night.  
  
The ottermaid blinked to clear the sudden darkness from her eyes. The huddled forms of creatures leaned against the walls, wrapped in pitiful excuses for blankets and clothing. Kyra winced, and ushered Sky in, closing the door, which kept the blinding light out. Kyra slowly gave a sharp whistle, high and shrill, and many heads turned to look at her.  
  
Kyra motioned for silence with a paw, pressing a finger over her lips. None of the slaves protested. They were too used to following orders to object to anything, even the command of a fellow slave. The few heads that had not turned to look at Kyra and Sky had eventually focused upon the pair when they had noticed their neighbors looking. Now, all of the slaves were watching the pair intently.  
  
Sky smiled slightly, while Kyra's face remained expressionless. "Thank you for payin' attention," Kyra said, not really knowing where to start. How was she going to make the announcement that she had to make? Where would she find the courage and the words? She took a long gulp.  
  
"Listen, friends. There's something I need to ask you all." As Kyra spoke to the other slaves, a glint appeared in her eyes, one that had not been seen since she was young. It was the glint of determination. Her voice was soft, but each note was backed by a powerful force. Sky slid around to the back of the room, ready to catch any spies, as Kyra spoke up again.  
  
"We've all been mistreated, beaten, bruised, even killed. . . We were taken from our homes, or born into this slavery. Now it is time to leave. I ask ye, will you fight? Every able-bodied creature who wishes to join us will be armed and taught in the ways of fighting. Those who wish to stay here..." She let the words hang in the air.  
  
A collective shudder was felt around the room, but not from being scared; the rebellion she was planning could save them! "The reason I wanted to talk to you is. . . we- Sky and I- are going to plan a rebellion against Mavarl. I know that you all hate him, and I know that the evil rat punishes those who try and rebel. But," she continued, "this time, we have a plan, and if all goes well, we will be free!"  
  
"We will not be the only ones to fight either! Earlier tonight, Skythistle and I rescued a large bird from Mavarl's clutches. He's been sent for reinforcements. After we are free, we plan to leave this place. All creatures will be returned to their homes. Fighting hares will take you to the mainland coasts.  
  
"For those of you that have no home, you will be welcomed with open arms at the Abbey of Redwall, a peaceful place in Mossflower. Those who join us in the rebellion or stay out of it can go, but traitors will be left to the seagulls. Understood?"  
  
Everyone nodded, eager to be a part in freeing themselves and their families. Kyra grinned, and managed to slip a wink at Sky. Sky let a silent chuckle slip from her lips, then stood motionless, still scanning the room for any traitors. She saw none.  
  
The group stayed up late, discussing plans long into the night.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

MacPhearsome squinted, his large tawny eyes straining to see where he was. The great eagle was soaring over the ocean through thick sheets of rain, looking downwards and hoping to find a place to rest. The diving droplets of life-giving rain had seemed more of a curse than a blessing to the great golden-feathered bird.  
  
The storm had started a few hours earlier, and had not let up since it had begun. The heavy rain came down in torrents as the mighty eagle crossed the wide blue sea, making his journey a great deal harder than it should have been. But MacPhearsome hadn't allowed himself to think of stopping to wait out the storm.  
  
Though the rain had been a continuous burden for the eagle to bear during his flight, he had simply clacked his beak and had ridden out the storm as best he could. The mighty bird had ignored the falling missiles from the celestial heavens above. He would not give up.  
  
MacPhearsome kept himself going, concentrating on each wingbeat, straining to fly farther and farther forwards through the rain. Visibility was awful. For perhaps the first time ever, the great golden eagle had blessed the lightning. The dark sky was almost impossible to see through, and a great fog had formed in the middle of the sea, hindering visibility even more than the rain did.  
  
The lightning offered brief flashes of illumination and these allowed him to quickly glimpse the terrain ahead. Normally, MacPhearsome would never have considered flying in such weather, but, this was a special circumstance. What else could he do? Storms at sea were common enough, even though they were deadly, and he had to press on.  
  
No matter how much his instincts told him to land, MacPhearsome kept to the air, beating his wings against the storm, challenging the sea and heavens above to do their worst. He had to continue onwards. The slaves were depending on him, and besides, wouldn't this get him what he wanted? Revenge on Mavarl?  
  
Ah, Mavarl. The thought of the rat- or, more specifically, the rat's death- had been the only thing that had kept MacPhearsome going. With each wingbeat he took, the eagle thought of Mavarl being shot down by arrows, being tortured, being whipped by his own slaves, being torn apart by his talons, and being killed in every other way imaginable.  
  
These mental images gave him the strength to carry on with his dangerous mission. The journey had taken several days so far, and except for a few hours of resting wherever he had come upon an island, the great eagle had not stopped. It had been the most physically exhausting thing that he had ever attempted.  
  
His heart pounding, his beak clacking irritably and his eyes squinted against the blinding sheets of rain that fell down upon the dark and swelling ocean below him, he continued onwards. Lifting his wings, pushing them against the wild and unpredictable winds that ran across the blue landscape that was the mighty ocean, the eagle strained his neck to see through the rain.  
  
There wasn't even the slightest shadow in the dark horizon ahead of him that could be a far off island. He didn't even want to consider the possibility that the Mossflower Coast could be nearby. It was too much to hope for, and if his hopes were crushed. . . shaking his head to dispel such gloomy and pessimistic thoughts, the eagle squinted again.  
  
To his surprise, he did see something that resembled a shadow. . . could it be an island? Not daring to hope for such good fortune, the eagle summoned all his energy from the depths of his bosom, flapping his wings with newfound vigor. An island! He could rest until the worst of the storm passed if there was suitable shelter to recline in.  
  
Then again, the storm had been going on for a long time, and might still go on for a long time to come. He doubted that it would pass any time soon. It was as if some higher power was determined to keep him from reaching the coast. The storm hadn't even started until he had started his mission. Was the storm sent just to stop him?  
  
Well, even if it had been, he wouldn't let it! Not a chance! A Wild King would never let such a pathetic thing stop him from fulfilling his duty! He would make it to the coast, come hell or high water! The eagle almost felt his heart leap into his throat as the distance between himself and the black shadow shortened. The shadow ahead was becoming more pronounced now, and was certainly an island.  
  
He did not even dare to consider that it might be the coast that he had been so long in seeking. Flapping with a greater intensity than before, the eagle sped ahead through the storm, cutting through the dark clouds and the sheets of rain like a golden arrow.  
  
His breathing was becoming harder now. But he couldn't stop! If he did, he would fall down into the ocean, to die in its blue-black depths. He would not die like that! He would not! He had many slaves counting on him, and he also had his revenge on Mavarl to consider. If he was going to die, he was going to die after his mission was completed!  
  
Fighting for his life in the storm, the eagle continued flapping, using the last of his strength. And then, he saw that he was flying over the shadow. It was indeed land! And not just an island either. . . it was the coast! MacPhearsome had reached the coast of Mossflower Wood!  
  
He tilted his golden feathered head downwards and dived, folding his wings close against his body. The great eagle pulled himself up at the last second, backs winging neatly to land on the sands near a great fortress that had been built inside a volcano. Salamandastron.  
  
MacPhearsome waddled forwards a few paces, exhausted by his long flight over the sea. The storm that had been brewing over the dark blue waters hadn't helped him much in conserving energy. But, he would soon have somewhere dry and warm to rest his wings and to shelter from the storm.  
  
Raising a wing to protect his head from the rain, the eagle waddled a few more paces forwards on the sand, tilting his head upwards and peering curiously at the great volcano. This must be the mountain that Sky had told him about: Salamandastron. What else could it be?  
  
Of course, MacPhearsome had thought that he had been prepared for the sight of the famed mountain, inhabited by hares that were ruled by their badger lord, but he had never expected something so big and grand! It reminded him of his mountains back home. . . the mountains that he longed to return to some day.  
  
Eagles were not meant to be near the sea. They lived in the wild northern mountains, where wolves and even worse things made their homes. Redwall lay in the gentle east, while out to the west, where Kyra and all of her friends were slaves, strange and deadly creatures dwelt.  
  
The southlands weren't that friendly either. Magical foxes were said to make their home there on a secret island far out on a lake. MacPhearsome had traveled so far west that the sun had scorched his golden feathers, and so far north that icicles had hung off of his wingtips.  
  
He had flown so far south that he had passed over the great lake with its island, and so far east that he had stumbled into the plains and meadowlands where other birds of prey lived. Salamandastron, slightly to the north and the west of Redwall Abbey, was a place he had heard about in great detail, though he hadn't ever veered his traveling courses to see it for himself.  
  
After resting another moment to recuperate from his exhausting flight, the eagle waddled forwards, feet sinking slightly in the damp sands that covered the beach on which the inactive volcano known as Salamandastron was situated. The rain soon washed away the deep and muddy footprints quickly. The storm hadn't calmed in the least since MacPhearsome had landed.  
  
Soon, the eagle reached the great stone door that led inside the Fortress of Salamandastron. He looked up, trying to see through the blinding rain that poured down upon his body. The wing that he had been holding above his head to keep off the rain fell limply at his site. He was too tired to waste any of his remaining energy keeping it up.  
  
Taking a deep breath, coughing after the attempt as rain fell into his beak, he called out to whoever might be in a position to hear him. If nobeast answered, he would have to wait out the storm without shelter. "Hallo? Is anybeast up there, nau? Ah be MacPhearsome, Wild King O' the Northern Mountains, d'ye ken?" The eagle waited for some moments, hoping for a response.  
  
All was silent except for the rain pattering on the sand and the sound of the waves crashing against the beach. He waited for an even longer length of time. Still, no sound graced his ears from the mountain fortress. No hare opened the gates to let him in to the mountain. No friendly paw beckoned him in out of the storm.  
  
The golden eagle had a very short amount of patience, and was starting to get a little angry at being ignored. He was MacPhearsome, Wild King of the Northern Mountains with important news for the Badger Lord, and the residents of the acursed Mountain of Salamandastron weren't paying him any heed! The infuriated eagle did not even consider the fact that nobeast was present in this weather to hear his curtly given greeting.  
  
Puffing up his brawny chest, the eagle bellowed out his message again through the howling, whistling winds. "Are ye daft, harebeasties?" he called up, shouting even louder than before in his strange northern accent. "Can ye not hear me callin' tah ye way up there? Are those silly long ears that ye always carry on your heads good for nothing at all?"  
  
He waited. And waited. And waited. There was not any sound but the rain for a long while. Figuring that the spot on which he stood was as good as any to spend the night in, the eagle remained where he was, tucking his head under his wing to keep out the rain. He closed his eyes, sleep about to take over. . . and then, the stone door that led into Salamandastron creaked slowly open.  
  
The great eagle started awake, eyes wide and pupils dilated. He eagerly ran forwards, wanting to get out of the storm that still raged onwards outside in the heavens, high above the wine dark sea. The great eagle made sure that he was completely inside and safe from the downpour and shook his feathers before looking at the three hares that stood gawking at him.  
  
Before the eagle could collect himself, a dark furred hare stepped forwards, waggling his ears and twitching his nose in a comical manner. This hare, like others, was tall and lanky, though his appearance clearly showed that he was strong and well muscled.  
  
The hare carried a finely crafted saber at his hip, and he let it rest casually in its scabbard, pressing softly against his clean white tunic. The impression he gave was one of a well-organized officer. . . which he was.  
  
"I say, ol' chap," the dark haired hare stated in a drawling tone, "we bally well heard you out there. I an' my friends here were just debating' on whether to let a rude chap like yourself in, doncha know! We weren't sure whether we wanted foul-mouthed an' equally foul-tempered birds in here, laddie buck! Silly long ears indeed, eh wot! Now, MacThingummy- couldn't hear your name clearly with you shoutin' it through the rain and all, wot- come an' tell th' bally Badger Lord what you want so you can stop drippin' on our bloomin' floor!"  
  
MacPhearsome glared, but before he could speak, another of the three hares stepped forwards as the third closed the door behind them. The one that had approached the eagle had light creamy brown fur, and she waggled her ears even more comically than the first. She was obviously higher in rank than the first hare, and silenced him with a mere glance.  
  
Taking the dangerous officer's hint, the hare backed down. This female also carried a saber at her side, and her tunic was just as white. "Oh shuddup Kip! Take the blinkin' bird to Lord Seastripe before he bites your nose off. Actually, with your limited brains, I should take him there. Smart as well as beautiful, doncha know! Just kidding, ol' bean."  
  
"Well, the first hare continued, "the bally Badger Lord'll certainly want t'see this chap. An' by the way, MacPhearsome, th'only reason we couldn't let you in earlier was because our guard went to the kitchens for a snack an' abandoned his post!"  
  
The second hare winked and gestured with one paw towards the hare that had closed the door behind them. The storm was now just a dull roar outside, and MacPhearsome was beginning to feel much better now that he was out of the pouring rain.  
  
The hare was taller than his two friends were, and his fur was slightly red. "Greetings, ol' bean. How are you? Good Heavens! You're a big ol' feller aren't you? Never seen a blinkin' bird the size of you in all my seasons!"  
  
MacPhearsome eyed him, somewhat annoyed. "Yah need no' talk tah me as if ahm naught bu' a wee bairn, laddie. Ah can understand yeh perfectly. I've had dealin's wi' harebeasts afore now. Act'ly, that's why ah've come here. I made a bargain with a haremaiden an' an ottermaid who need your help. Nau, would yah be so kind as tah take me tae yer Badger Lord?"  
  
The hares stopped talking, and the first male hare stepped forwards again to make the introductions. "Well then, MacWhatsyourname, I'll take you there immediately after we've introduced ourselves, eh wot! I'm Lieutenant Kipeau at y'service. Kip for short, eh wot! This pretty lass here is Cap'n Clairethye."  
  
Clairethye smiled at MacPhearsome and gave him a neat, elegant leg to show her respect. The youngest hare, the one that had abandoned his post, attempted to imitate her and almost fell over. Claire laughed inwardly and lifted him up, whereupon the youngster gave a simpler, short bow.  
  
Kip didn't seem to notice. "Call her Claire. Does things you couldn't imagine with a saber, doncha know! And this lad just came in from his duties. He stuck around 'cause he couldn't keep his nose out of officer business, right Skariuskunk?"  
  
The young hare shook his head. Even though he was the other two officers junior by several seasons, he towered above them both. "Couldn't resist Lieutenant Kip sah! Had to see the blinkin' great bird, doncha know!"  
  
The Captain glared at him, and his ears drooped. MacPhearsome sat rather patiently through the arguing and scolding and introducing, but he was beginning to grow rather restless, and he hastened to inform the hares. He did not speak, but shot a quick glance towards a nearby stair case and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.  
  
Kipeau noticed this and tried to end the argument that Claire was having with Skariuskunk. "C'mon, Claire m'dear! Don't be so hard on young Skari over there. Great Seasons, you have a heart as hard as stone sometimes!" Claire said not a word to the Lieutenant, but walked a few paces down the path with long, well muscled legs.  
  
MacPhearsome started to follow her. Skari and Kip walked behind them as Claire led the trio to Lord Seastripe, Badger Lord of all Salamandastron and the Western Coast.  
  
A few minutes later, after climbing several winding staircases and ramps, MacPhearsome, along with the three hares, stopped in front of a door. "There you are, MacWhatsyourname!" said Claire. She had cheered up considerably. Hares do not often stay quiet for long.  
  
"Lord Seastripe is inside," Kip said, "workin' on Badger Lord Type stuff. I think th' Cap'n and I will stay. We'll listen t'your proposition, birdy!"  
  
Now," Claire said as she turned to Skari, "Off with you, young rip!" Skari's ears drooped again, and he looked as if he were about to protest, when Claire whispered something in his ear. The young hares face lit up, and he ran off down the stairs, taking the steps in leaps and bounds.  
  
MacPhearsome, Kip, and Claire all burst out laughing as he tripped at the bottom of the staircase. The young hare picked himself up and continued running until he was out of sight.  
  
The Lieutenants face was a slight shade of purple from laughing and from lack of air. He grinned down at Claire and chuckled as he spoke. "Whoahahahaha! I say, ol' gel, what did you tell that young scallyw- Wahahehehehe! 'Scuse me. What did you tell Skari to get him to ru- ru Woahahahaha! To run away so bloomin fast?" MacPhearsome watched, tears of laughter trickling down his feathered cheeks.  
  
"I simply told him," Claire said, rather smugly, "that Mooneye was bakin' scones in the kitchens an' was givin' 'em away!" At this, all three of them burst out into fresh gales of laughter. When they had composed themselves, Claire raised a paw and knocked loudly on the heavy oaken door in front of them.  
  
She waggled her ears and tried to suppress giggles as she called through the door. "I say, M'Lord Seastripe, we've got a bloomin' golden eagle-type chap out here who wants to talk to you. Found him drownin' out in the rain, doncha know!"  
  
The door creaked open and a large, heavily built badger held it ajar as the hares and MacPhearsome trooped inside. Both Claire and Kip saluted smartly to Lord Seastripe before standing at attention on the other side of the doorway while MacPhearsome entered. He had been behind them in the corridor.  
  
It was only after he had entered the candlelit room that MacPhearsome got a good look at Lord Seastripe. The badger looked relatively normal, as badgers went. Well muscled, large, and very stripy. There was one odd thing about him though.  
  
On his head, where a white stripe should have run between his ears, sat a bright blue stripe instead. The Badger had dyed that, and some of the markings on his neck, a bright sky blue color. Lord Seastripe shut the door firmly, and took a seat in a large armchair at one end of the room.  
  
The room was medium sized, with one large chair to the left of the fireplace on the back wall, and two smaller chairs across on the right. The Officers took both of these chairs, while MacPhearsome stood in between them, since the chairs would not have suited him, being an eagle and all.  
  
"Well now," Lord Seastripe said, lifting his large black-and-blue head. "Would you be so good as to tell me who you are and why you've come? Since Kip and Claire were good enough to bring you straight to me, I take it you aren't just here for a visit." MacPhearsome nodded gravely, and answered the Badger Lords questions as quickly as he could.  
  
"Weel nau, Ahm MacPhearsome th' Tenth, Wild King o' th' Northern Mountains. A little while back, a rat tyrant by the name o' Mavarl thought t'would be nice tah capture me on one of his inland journeys and throw me in a cage. He brought me on his ship, an' took me tah his Castle.  
  
"Ah have been there for a good long time, nau, bein' poked at wi' spears an' such. Not t'mention bein' starved! T'wasn't very nice. I still hate th' vile rodent, so I do! Bu' I won' get intah that. Tha point is, ah was in a bloody cage when a wee H'Ottermaid named Kyra Longfletch an' her friend Skythistle Mornin'dew Meadowsong got me out.  
  
"They are slaves tah th' rat tyrant there. Weel, those two lassies set me free, an' made me promise tah get them help from Salamandastron, an' from th' Ottermaids 'olt while they lead a rebellion. An' so, I'm here!"  
  
Lord Seastripe nodded gravely and took a moment before answering the Eagle's comment. "Aye, we here at Salamandastron know of Mavarl the Tyrant," he said, as if the name of the rat warlord tasted foul on his tongue. "He's marauded many peaceful communities here on the western coast. Can you, MacPhearsome, guide us to this Island? I don't recognize the name of Skythistle at the moment, but. . ."  
  
Claire coughed, and neatly interrupted Lord Seastripe. "Well, pardon me for interruptin, sah, but I know Sky! She wasn't but a leveret when I last saw her. Ran away an' never came back. I knew her mother, rest her poor soul, but the poor dear died, and her father. . . her father disappeared before Sky was even born while he was out on Patrol. Cap'n Woodshire Meadowsong was his name. I know Sky because I acted as her nursemaid after her parents died. Took care of her and all. She wanted to be a Long Patrol fighting hare, like I did. When I got accepted, she wanted to come with me."  
  
Seastripe nodded. "I remember now; the mention of Woodshire brings it all back. I actually know Kyra too! That young maid was a dibbun when she disappeared. Well, we know what's happened to her now. I knew her father as well. Skipper Ironjaw of the Sea Otters. I was actually invited up to Holt Ruddaring, where she's from, when she and her twin brother Ronil were born! Such a sweet little maid, but I'll wager she's not so sweet now."  
  
Kip smiled. "I 'member that jolly great party, but I fear I don't remember either of the Ruddaring Twins! The Shrimp and Bulrush soup was amazin' though." Claire shot the Lieutenant a nasty look, and he stopped talking. The four beasts continued talking long into the night, drawing up plans.


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

The sky outside shone with a radiance that a creature could only see in the far west, a soft red sun tinting the ebony blackness of the night sky red and gold, and making the blue hues of the sky grow lighter and lighter. Kyra had seen such dawn sunrises many times, but they did not bring her much joy any more.  
  
Soft dawn light shone down from the rising sun, worming its way into the Sleeping Quarters in the Slave Compound through chinks in the badly- carpented woodwork. The early morning light lay on the ottermaid's face, casting it into shadow. The heat of the already warm air intensified, making Kyra stir as the temperature changed.  
  
Though she might welcome the warm climate now, she knew that she wouldn't in a few hours time. The days on Fortguard were unbearably hot, as they were on every of the Western Isles. Though Kyra would have liked to curl back up in her corner and sleep again, she knew that she would soon be awakened.  
  
Kyra groaned and opened one eye to see Sky's face looming above her. "Go 'way," she mumbled, before turning over and tensing her muscled form in her corner. Sky didn't 'Go 'way' but instead pulled Kyra's eye open with her paws. Kyra glared, rolling over. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes to rid her fevered brain of its sleepy state.  
  
"Gerraway from me, Sky. I don' have strength for this fight. Lemme be; jus' a few more minutes?" Of course, Kyra knew that Sky would not let her fall peacefully back into her night's slumber. That would have only meant a whipping from one of Mavarl's guards. Better feeling Sky's gentle paws then their searing whips in her flesh. Sky pulled Kyra to her feet, glaring at her in mock anger.  
  
The two often woke each other and the rest of the slaves from the depths of their slumbers, so that they would be awakened by gentle voices as opposed to stinging lashes. It was a courtesy. Anybeast that was rude about being awakened abruptly, even if in a gentle way, was politely pardoned when they were in a better mood later.  
  
Sky tried to keep a grin from spreading across her face. She knew that she could be even worse than Kyra when she had been interrupted in the middle of a good dream. Sky stood up and put a paw on her hip, keeping a firm hold on Kyra's shoulder to keep her from lying back down on the ground and going back to sleep.  
  
"Y'great lazybones! If I don't wake you up, the slavers will, an' I think I'm a better face t'see in the mornin', eh wot! An' besides, don't fancy you'd want to start a brand new day with a bunch of bloody cuts on your back. Keep a low profile, m'dear." Sky managed to flash Kyra a quick wink. It was enough to keep the ottermaid upright without assistance.  
  
The ottermaid yawned and continued rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, stretching to relieve her muscles of the kinks they had acquired over her limited hours of sleep the night before. "Sometimes I think t'would be better to be whipped awake, if only t'get a few more minutes of sleep before the punishment," Kyra mumbled. Sky grinned, knowing that her otter friend did not mean what she said in the slightest.  
  
She had to stay strong, and to help others who were weaker than herself. Kyra nodded, and stumbled on the cold floor of the compound, yawning again. She sighed and stumbled about, waking other slaves up. She was in a bad mood, but not in a bad enough mood to be gruff or assertive with her waking.  
  
As she gently nudged beast after beast, they grudgingly got up, pulling yesterdays clothes about them and blinking the sleep out of their eyes before walking about to help wake the others. The 'wake up crew' saved the dibbuns for last. The little ones would need as much sleep as they could get before their work.  
  
Even the tiniest were made to work. If they were too young to be of any use in the fields, they were set to cleaning Castle Fortguard, or picking the crops.  
  
Kyra began to notice that many of the slaves got up without protest. A few even gave her small winks or nods. She smiled a bit, being cheered by their hope. For seasons she had tried to help them to keep their hopes up. Now, they were helping her, and what was how it should be. All the slaves were obligated to help each other and to stand by each other.  
  
After all the hardships and torture, they were repaying her for helping them by slipping her a secret smile to boost her morale, or giving a friendly wink in the fields. And it was having a tremendous effect on the ottermaid. She had been getting subtle signals from the slaves ever since their meeting many nights ago.  
  
It had indeed been a while since MacPhearsome had left, and doubt was starting to creep into Kyra's heart. Would the eagle honor his word and come back to them with help? The argument that Kyra had with herself- and with Sky- on the subject seemed to be a never-ending battle, and one that could not be won. All they could do was trust in the eagle and hope.  
  
Every night, she and Sky would have the same conversation before bed:  
  
"D'you think MacPhearsome will come back?" Kyra would ask.  
  
Sky would snort, and turn over, pretending to want to get to sleep. "'Course he will Kys! 'Course he will. Said he would, didn't 'e?"  
  
Kyra would frown, and nudge Sky, who would by this time pretend to be asleep. "How do you know he told the truth?"  
  
Sky would grumble, and glare at her ottermaid friend. "Shuddup Kys. He said he'd come back, and he will. G'Night!"  
  
Kyra would be silent for a while, before nudging Sky again. "Sky."  
  
Sky would open one eye, glare, and say in a threatening tone: "Go to sleep, Kyra Longfletch."  
  
Then, Kyra would leave her alone 'till morning.  
  
"MacPhearsome should be back any day now, eh?" said Kyra as Sky passed her in the cramped compound. Sky wiggled her ears, and yawned hugely. She nodded, and continued. None of them were supposed to talk about MacPhearsome, or the rebellion, but they often slipped each other subtle hints anyway. They couldn't help it!  
  
The excitement that was still brewing among the slaves despite the long wait had not in the least been dampened. They had taken to the newfound emotion called hope with tremendous effects. Their weapon supply was growing too. Even though MacPhearsome had not returned to the slaves yet, that did not mean that they could not start helping themselves.  
  
Many times throughout the long days that they had waited for some sign of their messenger in the blue sky, other slaves had come up to Kyra or Sky, subtly slipping them a stone, a discarded arrow, a bit of metal, or even a dagger or two. These were all added to a big pile, which was hidden in a corner of the compound under a heap of dirt.  
  
The slaves had made crude slings out of anything they could find. There were plenty of stones to be found in the fields, so ammunition wasn't a problem. They would soon be prepared for Rebellion; with, or without MacPhearsome.  
  
Kyra fervently hoped that the answer would be with MacPhearsome. She knew that if the eagle flew to Salamandastron, Lord Seastripe would send his hares to aid their cause... that is, unless the Badger Lord had died and had passed the rule of the fire mountain on to another... Kyra reassured herself mentally, dispelling these depressing and discouraging thoughts with more pleasant ones.  
  
She had to keep her spirits up, if not for herself, than for the other slaves. They needed all the encouragement that she could give them. Even if Lord Seastripe was no longer Badger Lord, the new Lord would help them. Right? She covered her head with her paws, and shook it. Damn! She always had a long, winding list of 'What If." questions in her head, and she couldn't seem to stop them.  
  
The slavers came in then, carrying whips and swords at their belts. Unfortunately, the whips didn't stay in the belts for long. Kyra winced as she felt the sharp tip of the whip tear the ragged garments on her back and work its way into her flesh. She didn't bother to turn around and see who had whipped her. It didn't matter. She would have her revenge on them all soon, and what did one rat matter?  
  
Mavarl was the one who commanded thousands of the evil creatures. It was he that she wanted to kill. She felt the blood seeping through her ragged, battered, tight fitting tunic. She didn't care. It wasn't as if she could run up to Mavarl and ask him politely for a new one. She smiled a bit. That would be an amusing scene.  
  
She would walk into Mavarl's room and smile broadly, holding up her ripped and bloodstained tunic. In a polite voice, she would tell him that the slaves were tired of such conditions, and wanted less working hours as well; even more food. Imagine the look on the tyrant's face then!  
  
A scythe was shoved roughly into her hands. Field duty again. Damn. It was as if Lord Mavarl knew she was leading a rebellion against him. Even without meaning to, that rat tormented her. She saw Sky looking at her own scythe with an angry expression upon her face. Kyra waited for the haremaid to catch up and laid a firm hand on her shoulder.  
  
She saw Sky eyeing the nearest captain with a hungry look. The haremaid was hungry, but not for food or drink. She was hungry for the taste of blood on her tongue. Kyra shook her head, and gave Sky's shoulder a warning squeeze. "Don't do it, Meadowsong. Wait 'till MacPhearsome comes," she muttered in the haremaid's large ear, hoping that Sky would listen.  
  
Then, she walked off. If the guards saw her whispering to Sky... she didn't want to think about what might happen. And it would ruin all of their plans. Of course, their plans would also be ruined if MacPhearsome didn't keep up his part of the bargain! Why did her thoughts always revolve around that bloody bird?  
  
It didn't take long for the ragged line of slaves to reach the fields. Groups gradually broke off to head towards Fortguard, or to do other chores, until only a third of the slaves were left with scythes in their paws to work the fields that Lord Mavarl owned. Kyra picked up her scythe and started to swing it, her muscles automatically jumping into the rhythm of the work, as they had done every day.  
  
She shook her head, and prepared her body for another day of arduous labor in the fields. Time passed. It could have been hours later, or it could have been minutes later. It could have even been moments later. There was no time in the fields. You had only the sun and your shadow for a clock, and only the feeling of tiredness to determine how long you had been working.  
  
After she had been working steadily for quite some bit, Kyra looked up at the sky above her. She put a paw over her eyes to shade them from the sun. Then, she saw it. She thought it might be a dream. She wasn't even sure that the sight she saw was real until Sky worked her way over to her and whacked her legs with the wooden end of her scythe.  
  
The pain made Kyra come to herself, and a large grin crept across her face. High above her, the black silhouette of a large bird flew in front of the sun. Kyra held her breath. Of course, it could just be a seabird. They often saw a lot of seabirds in the sky, flying about the island. It was impossible to tell what the bird was from that distance. "  
  
If it flaps its wings constantly, it's a seabird." Sky whispered in her ear. "They don't ride the wind like Hawks and Eagles and such do. Watch its wings." She said no more. Neither of them wanted to raise their hopes to high. Kyra bit her tongue to prevent the question that was pounding in her brain from coming out of her dry lips. Was it MacPhearsome?  
  
They watched the bird for a long time, until they felt the eyes of the guards on the backs of their necks. Both friends looked away from each other, picked up their scythes and continued working. The bird didn't flap its wings more than a few times. Kyra smiled. Now, if there was only a sure way to know if this was MacPhearsome? How would the great bird give them a message if it were him?  
  
High above, MacPhearsome's brain asked the same questions. A few nights ago, he had left Salamandastron and flew, with directions from Lord Seastripe, to Holt Ruddaring to warn Ironjaw and his Otters about Mavarl. He had left them swiftly so he could fly back and rendezvous with Lord Seastripe and his hares at the Island.  
  
The ships of Ironjaw's otters would meet them there in two nights. He hadn't counted on being so early. Down below, Kyra's brain was racing as well. There was no doubt in her mind that the bird up in the sky was indeed MacPhearsome! The only problem was how to meet him or at least talk to him to get whatever news he brought back. If only she could talk to him.  
  
Sky, however, had a different plan in mind.  
  
Sky's plan was simple: Start a scuffle with the guards, cause a lot of noise, and let MacPhearsome scream down his message amid the chaos. She didn't tell Kyra her newly developed plan. The ottermaid would object to it immediately. Sky was too angry with Mavarl and his minions to really care what became of her, and was too young and impatient to think of a better plan.  
  
And so, she took her scythe, gripped it tightly, and charged at the nearest group of guards. All of the slaves stared, stunned, as Sky ran forwards and swung her scythe at the nearest rat. The rat squealed as the blade sunk into his neck. All of the other guards drew their weapons while a few archers pointed their arrows at the charging Sky.  
  
The haremaid lifted her head, her eyes burning with hate and anger. Her lips parted, and she let loose a warcry she hadn't used in years. "EULALIAAAAAAAAAA!"  
  
Kyra gripped her own scythe, and broke the blade off. She held the blade in her teeth as she swung the newly made quarterstaff expertly in her paws. Then, she charged towards Sky. Kyra instantly knew what the crazy fool was trying to do. What an idiot! Couldn't that confounded haremaid keep her big mouth shut and her fiery temper at bay for one second?  
  
Kyra had learned control. If there was one thing she had learned from Mavarl's torture, it was control. But now, all control was abandoned, and her eyes started to haze over. She couldn't think! This hadn't ever happened to her before. She felt her heart hammering in her chest, and all the noise around her dimmed. Everything was silent.  
  
Her vision became distorted, and a red film seemed to clap itself over her eyes. She gripped the Blade in one hand, the quarterstaff in the other, and charged into the fray. She lifted her head high, and let the warcry of her ancestors sing over the Island for the first time since the night she had been captured. "HOOOOOOLT LUTRAAAAAAAAA!"  
  
Quite a few of the other slaves joined in, grabbing their scythes and charging into the fray. Kyra ran about with her broken scythe like a madbeast, and truly, she was mad. Her eyes watered, her heart hammered, and her ears were filled with a wordless roaring. She struck down every guard she came in contact with, intent on killing them all. The controlled Kyra was gone.  
  
The ottermaid stabbed her blade again and again into the various vermin that tried to subdue her while fending off others with her twirling quarterstaff. An arrow whizzed straight towards her head, and she dropped her wooden staff to the ground as she twisted in the air, catching the arrow in her paw.  
  
It was a simple trick that she had learned from her father when she was just an otterkit, but now, the game had saved her life. She continued battering and slicing and hacking at the guards, oblivious to everyone and everything else.  
  
Sky watched Kyra with amazement. When she was only a leveret, she had heard of a madness that infected a beast's brain when they were in battle. It wasn't just the bloodlust that normal beasts had. It was the crazy infection that Badger Lords were said to possess. The red madness that took over your brain. The madness that sent lone warriors into hundreds of thousands of vermin without fear.  
  
But the Bloodwrath as it was called had been found in others besides Badger Lords. She saw hundreds of archers coming towards them from Castle Fortguard. Somebeast had set off the alarm. She looked up at the sky and smiled. MacPhearsome was circling high above the battlefield. She saw him swoop low, and open his beak.  
  
Even as she continued to fend off Rats with her scythe, she kept her focus upon him. He had to give her the message before the rats came to help their comrades! Kyra was too crazy to hear him anyway, thought Sky ruefully.  
  
She waited for the message to be delivered, knowing that the eagle understood that this scuffle was his only chance. Even though her idea had been crazy, it was going to work! Sky could not dampen the sense of pride that swelled up in her breast. Her plan had worked!  
  
MacPhearsome swooped lower, knowing what Sky had been trying to do. He shook his golden feathered head, not approving of the reckless haremaid's plan at all. What had she been thinking? The idiot should have known better than to start a fight! But, of course, Sky was young and foolish. MacPhearsome knew that if either of them had taken the time to think the situation out properly, that he, Kyra, or Sky would have come up with a better solution, but time was something they did not have.  
  
Sighing, MacPhearsome took in a deep breath and prepared to let out his simple message. This part, at least, was not hard. He simply had to tell her that, in two nights, Claire as well as her regiment of hares would be ready to launch an attack with the rebel slaves on Fortguard. Now, he just had to combine it into a simple message that would easily be heard by the waiting Sky.  
  
He just had to make sure that he did it at the right time. Seeing Sky turn towards him and give him the slightest inclination of her head, he knew that it was time. Gathering his breath, the eagle let out the loud cry, which contained his message.  
  
"Salamandastron shall be upon ye in two days, Meadowsong! Be ready! KYEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAR!" This brief, and not at all subtle, message was all the eagle had thought necessary to say. His mission completed, he flew off to find a suitable hiding place on the island.  
  
The aptly delivered message floated across the sounds of the battling guards and slaves into Sky's ears. She smirked. Mavarl would get what was coming to him then. But now, she had other problems to worry about. Problems with dark fur, a broken scythe, and the bloodwrath.  
  
She sighed as she ran over to her still battling friend, and raised the wooden end of her Scythe high up in the air above Kyra's head. She brought it down with a sickening crack upon the ottermaid's head. Kyra dropped the scythe blade, and slumped onto the ground just as a group of archers encircled the slaves that had managed to continue fighting.  
  
"Sorry 'bout that, Kys!" Sky muttered to her unconscious friend. "Couldn't have you made these archers put more points in you then a hedgehog, eh wot!"


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

The guards weren't polite about dragging Kyra and Sky towards Castle Fortguard, but the two friends didn't expect them to be. After all, they were vermin that worked for the cruelest slavemaster that lived on the western isles. Mavarl only took the cruelest into his employment.

Kyra actually felt a bit honored because of the large escort that she and Sky had received. Lord Mavarl had sent plenty of foul guards with them, as if he feared another attack from the fearsome pair. Kyra had to keep herself from chuckling as her brain ran over these stray thoughts. The rat must think them mad if he considered them crazy enough to try yet another attack!  
  
Actually, Kyra mused, she and Sky might actually be slightly mad. Planning rebellion, freeing a great eagle, attacking guards. . . these were things that only a madbeast would do. Still, both she and Sky had done them, and for these very reasons they were about to be punished.  
  
Of course, Sky had managed to whisper MacPhearsome's message to Kyra as the pair had been dragged out of the fields. Even though Kyra still thought Sky mad for attacking the guards, the ottermaid knew that the haremaid at least had a valid reason for acting like an idiot and throwing herself at armed vermin warriors.  
  
Though Kyra dearly wished that she could tell Sky exactly how idiotic and stupid she was, and how hot headed her action had been, she prevented herself from doing so. It would only make Sky even more furious, and would only cause more unwanted problems. The ottermaid sighed and vaguely glared at a rat, not having anything better to do.  
  
The rat shifted his gaze away and kept his spear pointed firmly at Kyra, as if to warn her not to do anything foolish. Kyra simply walked and turned her gaze away, trying to pay the rat guards no heed. And so the two friends, accompanied by their 'guard of honor', continued forwards, approaching Castle Fortguard and trying to ignore the sinking feelings in the pit of their stomachs.  
  
Even though the journey shouldn't have taken a very long amount of time- the castle wasn't that far away, and the island wasn't that large anyway- time seemed to stretch out as the small group made their way along, the rats armed and glowering and the slave's eyes burning.  
  
Both the minds of Kyra and Sky were working feverishly. As long as the two played their cards right, they might just survive until MacPhearsome brought help to them. Death was certain in the long run, but if they could live long enough for the rebellion to take place, then they might have a chance at life. If Mavarl was overthrown before they perished under his cruel claw, they would live.  
  
The two didn't even bother to complain that they were the only ones picked to see Mavarl out of all the other slaves that had participated in the brawl. They had, of course, started the fight, and the rats didn't fancy taking an entire group of slaves, especially ones that had just attacked them with broken scythes. They had all jumped into the mini-rebellion with a will, and the pair didn't consider the unfairness of it.  
  
They were too busy thinking about MacPhearsome and his message. If they hadn't been, they would have realized that Lord Mavarl couldn't sentence an entire third of his slaves to death. He could just boost security, lower rations, and elongate working hours until the slaves learned their place. Examples would help too.  
  
Since Sky and Kyra had essentially started the brawl, they would be the perfect creatures to set the example. But, without them, the rebellion would not take place! Unknowingly, the rat had picked the two creatures responsible for the rebellion against him to punish. Luck was on the rat's side.  
  
Meanwhile, Kyra had other things to worry about. It was all well and good to have to worry about the rebellion as well as dying and torture, but there was an even stranger matter to be thought over. For instance, what had happened to her out on the field?  
  
The redness had come over her like a blanket, or like a thick fog. The red madness that had made her lose all the control she had worked so hard to build over the seasons. What in the name of the seasons had happened to her out there? Kyra felt strange, and for the first time, felt a very odd emotion creeping into her every vein and fiber.  
  
A very strange emotion indeed.  
  
What could be wrong with her? Was she sick? Was she going crazy? Maybe she was just tired. Yes, that would be it. She was just extremely tired and stressed from all of the extra work they had been doing, and from the rebellion plotting. It was all nervous tension. Though deep inside her breast Kyra knew she was lying to herself, she ignored her fears and continued onwards  
  
The ottermaid had no idea that her friend Sky knew exactly what had happened to her. The hare was, after all, a hare and had been raised around the stories of Badger Lords and their Bloodwrath. And Sky, after seeing her friends eyes turn red and her bloodlust rocket higher than she thought was possible, turned to this childhood explanation for Kyra's behavior.  
  
Though Sky was cocky even in slavery, plotting rebellion, willing to attack guards, and ever ready to withstand torture, she was not brave enough to confront Kyra with her suspicion. For all she knew, the period where the Ottermaid had seen red could have been a complete blank to her. And there would be plenty of time to approach it later.  
  
For all she knew, it would never happen again. Kyra stumbled forwards. Both of her paws were tied behind her back, and both she and Sky had two guards with spears at their backs, along with several other guards surrounding them as they walked.  
  
Sky smiled slightly. Even in this dire position, she and Kyra still had a chance. If they could keep Mavarl from killing them before tomorrow night, MacPhearsome could find a way to free them as well as the other slaves. And if they did die, the help that he had brought would be certain to help the other slaves, even if they were leaderless.  
  
This sudden inspiration comforted Sky. Even if they did die, the slaves still had a chance at freedom, even if it was a great deal slimmer. The seed of hope that she and Kyra had planted was still growing strong in some of the slaves. Maybe, just maybe, one of them would take the vulnerable seed and care for it, allowing it to grow. Hope would pick a new leader for the slaves, even if the rebellion were unsuccessful. In the future, this leader might succeed where they had failed.  
  
The rat guards, meanwhile, were rather bored. From what these chosen few had heard, these slaves were expected to be dangerous, and might even try to attack them on duty! As a result, the rats had been looking forwards to having a bit of fun with them. Fun for the rats, that is. The ideas of 'fun' for each class were completely different.  
  
But, since neither of the slaves seemed willing to pick a fight, it seemed as if the journey would go quietly, to the regret of most of the guards that surrounded Kyra and Sky. Neither of the slaves seemed very angry or distressed. They simply walked forwards, silently, not seeming to care that they faced death within minutes if Mavarl was in a temper.  
  
The rats just looked at them, wondering what by the Fang their overseer could have been thinking when he had said these two were top security prisoners and that they were dangerous! They didn't look dangerous at all. They looked like all the other slaves. Ragged, with all the life beaten out of them seasons ago.  
  
One of the rats behind Kyra scratched at his dirty ear with a claw. He looked much like any normal rat. He was fat, dirty, smelly, and had an assortment of unflattering jewelry on. He, following another characteristic common among rats, had a malicious temper as well and, seeing that neither of the 'dangerous' slaves were going to take the offensive and provide him with entertainment, decided to start a fight himself.  
  
He gripped his spear in his paws, pressing his flesh into the thick wood, and jabbed the butt of it into Kyra's back. "Get movin', Otter. Don't want to keep Lord Mavarl waitin', do we? 'E's in a bad enough temper as it is wivout you bein' late. I don't think he'll be happy when he sees yer, that's fer sure!"  
  
Kyra gave no outward sign that she had heard him, knowing that doing so would only make him more likely to use the butt of his spear again. Or maybe even the sharper and more deadly end. She doubted it though. Mavarl would most likely feel quite miffed if he were cheated of his intended victims because of a pointless brawl.  
  
This infuriated the rat even more. He jabbed her again, eyes glinting maliciously. "I said get movin', riverdog. Can't yer unnerstan' 'ow t'talk? Wouldn't be surprised iff'n ye were too stooped t'know wot I said. C'mon, water'ound, move those feet, or will I 'ave t'kill yew an' carry yer so we c'n get to Fortguard faster? I said move!"  
  
Kyra ignored him and continued walking; holding her head up high. She wasn't about to let some ugly, cowardly, and pathetic rat try and bring her down. She was a Skippers Daughter, and a warrior! Or, she thought, she would be a warrior if she survived this mess. She couldn't really consider herself a warrior yet.  
  
She was still a slave, and this insolent behavior proved it. She was sorely tempted to jump upon the offending rat and make sure that he paid for his crude and completely uncalled for speech, but she didn't. That would only worsen her situation, and besides, a warrior wouldn't do something so foolhardy. Well, on second thought, Sky probably would, and Sky was a beast who would be a warrior somehow.  
  
One of the rats behind Sky nodded in response to his crony's earlier statements. He thought the jest very amusing, and decided to put his own two cents in, even if the two cents took all the concentration his tiny brain could afford. This speaker was obviously not an intellectual or a leader. Most vermin weren't. "Aye," he snuffled, "he will be angry, won't 'e, Bloodclaw?"  
  
The first rat glared at him, obviously not too pleased at having his threats interrupted by the dim witted idiot next to him. The second speaker was tall and fat, with tiny watery eyes and a crooked nose. His head was smaller than his considerably large and unfit body, and one of his ears had been ripped off in some long ago fight.  
  
His fur was matted, and he wore a number of ugly brass and copper earrings in his one remaining ear. All of his jewelry was poor in quality, as was his muscular development, and Kyra almost shook her head at his tawdry tastes in dress.  
  
The first rat aimed a kick at him and missed. This, however, didn't seem to discourage the fat vermin much. The first, seeing this, retaliated with speech as opposed to physical violence, as the latter seemed not to work quite as well.  
  
Speech seemed to confuse the stupid rat a great deal, and the smarter and smaller one obviously knew this too. "Shuddup, lunk'ead," he spat, displaying green fangs. "No one asked yer t'speak, did they? Keep yer bloody trap shut, or do I 'ave t'make yer keep it shut, scumbrain?" The rat wobbled as he stepped forwards.  
  
"Er, sorry Bloody"  
  
Bloodclaw smirked at the two slaves manevolently. "Bet you won't be lookin' too good after Lord Mavarl's done wid ye! I hear he's really mad about you chargin' down all those guards. Wonder which of you he'll kill first." Kyra clenched her paws and grimaced.  
  
She concentrated on the ground ahead, trying to shut out the comments of the rats. She wasn't scared of death, for death had been staring her in the face for seasons now, but she was scared that death would come before the Rebellion, which was something she wanted to take part in, whether she survived it or not.  
  
The Rebellion was the only thing she had to live for next. Otherwise, she would have gladly gone before Mavarl and even begged him to kill her, to end her misery. Sky, however, did not have as much control over her mouth as Kyra did.  
  
"Hey, Rat," she whispered to Bloodclaw. "Did you see what me 'n my matey Kyra did to those guards back there in the fields, y'blighters?" she paused for dramatic effect. "You don't want that to happen to you, do you, eh wot? I think you should shut your mouth before Kyra and I get a trifle mad at you and decide that killin' scum like you is worth getting beaten for, ol' chap!"  
  
Doomfang looked nervous, his eyes shifting back and forth, and his face sweating. "Er, c'mon Bloodclaw. Don' make th' rabbit mad, now. What if they decide they want ter kill us? I don' want t'be killed, mate, even if they is killed afterwards fer punishment anyway? Won't change the fact that we're dead, will it?"  
  
The first rat seemed vaguely surprised that his friend's logic followed a sensible path, and was silent for a moment before regaining his senses after the initial shock of a slightly intelligent statement. Bloodclaw snorted and aimed another kick at his friend's vulnerable shins.  
  
"Shuddup. These slaves won' kill us, mate! We've got spears, an' what 'ave they got? Nothin' 'cept their chains. Iff'n they try an' attack us, we just give em a little prick wid these 'ere frogstickers!" Kyra clenched her paw even harder, and she had to use all the control she had built up over the years to keep from trying to tear her paws free. All she could manage was to vent her anger through her voice.  
  
"Listen, scumbrains," she said in a low, threatening tone. "If you bring those things anywhere near me or Sky, it'll be the last thing you do. Besides, if you'd used the brains you claim you have, then you would realize that Mavarl wouldn't be too pleased if you told him that you had killed the slaves he was going to punish, would he? He might even decide to kill you in our place. What d'you think of that?"  
  
Bloodclaw glared at the back of Kyra's head. "Don' worry, Doomy, they're just bluffin'! Those two ain't nothin' more than a riverdog and a bunny rabbit. What c'd they do to us? Besides, both of 'em are in chains." Sky turned her head slowly around, her ears pricked up and her eyes narrowed. Kyra gulped. That rat, whatshisname; all rat names sound alike anyway, had just made a big mistake. Hares do not like being called rabbits.  
  
"What did you call me, longtail?" the haremaid asked, a smile creeping across her face. "A rabbit? I'm a bally haremaid, d'you hear? An' this 'bunny rabbit' is a sight prettier 'n you'll ever be fleabag! Are you sure you're a rat? You look too ugly to be one, anyway. Besides, most rats have at least some brains, even if they smell awful. What d'you have between those ugly ears of yours? Bits of fluff and a few flies buzzin' around in there?"  
  
Kyra winced and clamped a paw over Sky's mouth before she got any farther. Sky, still angry, pulled it away. "I say, Kyra m'gel, I'm not finished yet, eh wot! Alright, listen here you flea bitten awful smellin' thick'eaded slow witted boulder bottomed droopy fanged excuse for a longtail! Lemme give you a piece of my mind!" Kyra sighed and replaced the paw.  
  
"Sky," she whispered warningly, "if those rats are even half as stupid as you say they are, and I don't doubt your judgment, then they will be stupid enough to kill us before we get to Mavarl! I wouldn't be surprised if your own brain was full 'o flies an' fluff, Skythistle Mornin'dew! Use the little common sense ye have, y'daft hare! Those idiots'd kill us jus' outta pure spite an' make up some story or other. Besides, think of MacPhearsome! D'you really want to even slightly endanger our chances?"  
  
"Stop yer talkin', slaves!" Bloodclaw shouted as the prisoners and their guards reached Castle Fortguard. "Lord Mavarl should be waitin' for ye in there. You'll want t'save yore breath for when you beg fer mercy. Doubt he'll give it t'you anyways, Riverdog!"  
  
Kyra looked straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the heavy wooden doors to Castle Fortguard as the rats ran forwards to open it. The ottermaid took a deep breath, fixed her tunic about her shoulders, and put a paw on the stone steps that led up to the castle looming above them. Then she, with Sky following her, stepped through the double doors that might seal their fate for all of eternity.  
  
Kyra looked about the great entrance hall. It had been many seasons since she had been in Castle Fortguard. Only the very young and the very old were forced to work inside the castle. Cleaning, Cooking, and other such tasks were considered too easy for the middle-aged creatures whose strength would be better served in the fields.  
  
Kyra smiled slightly. No matter what happened in here, she would be out of slavery soon, one way or another. Either Mavarl would kill her, or she would participate in the rebellion. If Mavarl killed her now, or else soon, she would never have to do another days work in her life!  
  
Of course, she would suffer terribly, but wouldn't the pain be worth it? Just to be free at last? Even if the Tyrant didn't kill her immediately, and she did participate in the rebellion, she would be killed if they lost. If, by some miracle, the slaves actually defeated Lord Mavarl, then she would be free as well. She had nothing to lose.  
  
There was only one thing that troubled her. If Lord Mavarl killed her, who would be left to save the other slaves? Sky would, of course, but Sky had an even greater chance of being killed by Mavarl then she did! Sky, the idiot, was the one who had actually started the whole brawl in the fields, the fool of a haremaid!  
  
If she and Sky were both killed, then who would give the slaves confidence? Who would set them free? Well, they had given that hope. That was one thing. With a bit of luck, another slave would assume command. If not, MacPhearsome would still rally the outside help, and the Salamandastron Hares and Ruddaring Otters would break in and free the with assistance or without it.  
  
Kyra continued to think as they walked through the Entrance Hall of Fortguard, but she was pushed back into reality as the rat guards opened the door leading into Lord Mavarl's great throne room. She had been in the Entrance Hall before, and didn't think much of it at all, though it the grandeur certainly impressed beasts who did not see it on a regular basis.  
  
Ornate and decorative relief carvings spread themselves across the walls, and all were painted with intricate designs and shades. Many beautiful trophies of Lord Mavarl's raidings hung about the walls. But, the throne room was even grander than the Entrance Hall.  
  
The stone walls were amazingly tall, ending in a domed ceiling with beautiful paintings covering it; even more grand than the ones in the entrance hall. Kyra looked upwards in amazement. Beautifully woven tapestries decorated the walls and a cloth of red velvet led directly to the huge golden throne that sat at one end of the room.  
  
The large golden throne was bedecked in the same type of red velvet cloth, and the large cushion in the seat was made of the same material. The throne was made of solid gold and was studded with thousands of rubies. Red jewels to match the red and gold throne.  
  
The rat himself was also decked in rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and pearls. The rings that covered his greasy fingers all had magnificent jewels on them, and the huge golden three-pointed crown that sat on his monstrous head was also studded in precious gems. In the center, however, the rat king chose to put a huge, glittering, shining emerald.  
  
Kyra smiled slightly. Her family loved the color green. It was the color of her grandmother's bow, and the color that Kyra loved best of all. Green reminded her of home. The rat guards all saluted smartly before bowing deeply and standing at attention, leaving the slaves standing alone on the red carpet, side by side.  
  
"Bow to your king!" Lord Mavarl said in a low, gravelly voice. Kyra and Sky did not bow. In a mutual agreement, both stood firmly side by side, eyes staring straight at Lord Mavarl's and not wavering in the slightest,  
  
"You won't bow?" the ugly rat said coolly, a small smile creeping across his hideous head. "You must think yourselves very brave, slaves. Why don't I help you?" He waved a fat paw to the guards, and Kyra felt the blunt end of the spear in the small of her back. The rat neatly tripped her with the spear, sending the ottermaid tumbling to her knees.  
  
Sky was receiving the same treatment next to her. The blunt end of the spear crashed into the back of Kyra's head, forcing her eyes down. Then, the sharp metal end of the spear was placed at her neck to prevent her from rising.  
  
"Now," said Lord Mavarl coldly. "Let us get down to business"


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

Kyra choked back the tears that threatened to pour down her face. Though tears often built up in her eyes, stinging their soft brown centers and making her almost gag with the force, she had never cried since she had been taken into slavery. No matter how hard it was, no matter how many times the whip dug into the flesh of her back, Kyra Longfletch never cried.  
  
Crying only showed your tormenters that they were having an effect on you. And so, Kyra had sworn never to cry, no matter how bad the pain was. Emotional pain, or physical, Kyra never cried. Even if the pain was enough to knock her unconscious, she never cried. She bit her lip and never let a tear of pain, of sadness, of desperation, or of anger trickle down her furry cheeks.  
  
No matter what she went though, Kyra Longfletch never cried. If you showed that you were weak, it made you more of a target for the cowardly rat guards. It had been years since she really cried, though tears often made her eyes sting for want of escape. She hadn't really cried since Lord Mavarl brought her here.  
  
She knew that even the brave and foolish Skythistle Morningdew wouldn't risk insult now. There was nothing that they could do to change their fate, and insulting Lord Mavarl wasn't going to help in the slightest. Or, at least, Kyra thought she wouldn't. The idiotic attack that the haremaid had started wasn't helping to reassure the ottermaid of the haremaid's ability to control her temper.  
  
Sky had a certain knack for getting into trouble with her mouth. Lord Mavarl smiled a cruel smile, though inside he was a bit disappointed that he hadn't gotten more of a reaction from the pair. He had honestly thought that there wasn't any fight left in his slaves.  
  
But these two were different. Obviously, a mere whipping hadn't taken the life away from them. The two creatures were young and strong, but that made no difference. Many other strongbeasts had been broken under the lash. These two had survived.  
  
It did not take Mavarl long to recognize the otter. Of course, she was a lot older now, but her eyes were still the same. Big, soft, brown colored irises stared out at him, just as they had seasons ago. And, Mavarl noticed, they held the same fire now as they had held on that long ago night when he had tried to raid her Holt.  
  
That brat had spoiled his plans once, and he wasn't about to let her get away with impudence. The hare held a similar look. Mavarl didn't remember capturing Skythistle, nor did he know her name. She was just another slave, captured at some point or another. Perhaps he had even bought her a while ago. But, from that moment on, Mavarl would never forget her.  
  
Troublemaking slaves stayed in his mind forever, in case there was a need to know something of them. Kyra had, of course, been added to the list. Sky had now joined her. The hare seemed similar to the otter in the respect that neither of their eyes held the dead and constantly frightened look that was reflected in the eyes of the other slaves.  
  
For most, the eyes were first filled with anger; anger similar to the fire that was held within the soft brown eyes and the black-brown eyes of Kyra Longfletch and Skythistle Morningdew. Then, the eyes held a fearful and sad look, one that displayed the feelings inside them.  
  
Those slaves knew that they were doomed to a life of torment forever. And then, their eyes and body took on a hollow and dead look. This matched their souls: Dead and no longer able to feel. The eyes of the two companions had not seemed to pass the first stage. Anger still filled them, coursing through every fiber of their beings, the bloodlust for revenge inside both of them, embedded deep after the pain of the lash and the hot sun on their backs.  
  
The memories of pain had wedged the hatred even deeper within their hearts until it had spread, growing larger and larger as it infested the once loving and caring heart, mutating it and turning it into a thing of darkness, tearing up it's fibers and rearranging them into a mass of pain and sorrow gathered from season after season after season.  
  
This look he saw in their eyes, and this look was one he feared. Here were two young and strong beasts with the fire still embedded in their eyes. But, unlike most others, they had suffered under his torment. They were still alive. He almost shuddered.  
  
Mavarl knew that he had created two monsters. Ones whose souls writhed and twisted with hate for him. They had strong bodies too, and determination. This was exactly what he wished most of his rats were like.  
  
He had two options. One, he could kill them through extensive torture, which is what he had done before. Two, he could try and persuade the monsters to join him. Why not? They had the gall, the physical strength, the brains, and the determination. All he had to do was turn their hatred into fearful respect. The fire could be turned against his enemies instead of against him.  
  
Yes, that would work. And if they refused? Torture was easy enough. "Now," he said, making sure to keep his voice level and unemotional. He made sure to let his words echo softly around the room. Mavarl had become more adept at many things since his days as a captain. Good acting skills were one of his newer improvements.  
  
And so, Mavarl knew how to create an image of terror, therefore giving him some power over his enemies. Kept his eyes straight on the pair of wretched slaves, making sure that the twin orbs were as emotionless as his voice.  
  
He knew that if he remained calm, it would be even more unnerving for the slaves. They were used to the loud windbags that he had for soldiers and captains. Being calm, cool, and cruel was even more frightening. Most creatures didn't know how to react, and that gave him the upper paw. Any bit of fear that he could make the two slaves feel would be to his advantage.  
  
Besides, even if it did not work on them, it would work on the surrounding guards, and make them quicker to obey. He spoke without an accent, as well. Mavarl had lost his corsair accent a while ago, and had become civilized. Or, as civilized as a rat horde leader could become. He had gained quite a bit of intellect, reading histories to learn of ancient battle plans.  
  
The old stories of great Warlords were indeed useful to the modern day one, and their strategies could be put to good use. In a sense, Mavarl had given himself an education. It only added to his power, he realized. Knowledge, as said in the old saying, was power.  
  
"I've heard from some of my captains that both of you decided to take your scythes and go gallivanting about the fields killing the guards. Is this true?" Kyra was shocked. Honestly, Lord Mavarl was very different from his captains. No insults or threats from him. He actually sounded; dare she say it, fair? But she wouldn't be fooled by this act.  
  
What kind of rat would keep slaves and give out awful punishments and then be polite? Maybe he suspected them of more than just attacking the guards? Maybe he wanted information about the rebellion! Though how he could have found out was beyond her.  
  
While Kyra thought, Sky answered. Kyra smiled; she had known that Sky couldn't keep her mouth shut for long. That was just like a hare! "Well, M'Lord Mavarl, it's true enough. May I be so bold as to ask why you want t'know since you have so many witnesses, doncha know?"  
  
Kyra winced. Sky was even more of an idiot than she thought! Talking back to Lord Mavarl? Even if it was only a little rude, it could spell death. Didn't she know how unpredictable Warlords could be?  
  
"Can you spell D-E-A-D?" Kyra muttered under her breath to Sky. The haremaid glared back, and the two were only brought out of their seemingly telepathic battle by the sound of Lord Mavarl coughing for their attention. The sound startled the two, and both would have jumped up with a start had not many metal tipped and deadly spears been pointed at their unprotected backs.  
  
Lord Mavarl chuckled slowly. "No, Hare, you may not be so bold. I'm the one asking the questions if you don't mind. I will answer you, because it brings me to my point. I wanted to ask you because I was trying to figure out your motive, and was hoping you would give me a clue. Not many slaves would simply go up and attack a guard without a motive, you know."  
  
Kyra noticed something else strange about Mavarl too. He didn't have a corsair accent like most of the vermin on the island. Could it be that Lord Mavarl had civilized some since he had stopped plundering and had started ruling from his fancy castle?  
  
A few seasons after he had captured Kyra, Lord Mavarl had stopped pillaging the seas and had settled down at Castle Fortguard permanently, sending his captains and crews out to do his plundering and thievery for him.  
  
Sky glared, once again letting her mouth run faster than her brain. "So, you think that being beatin', starved, tortured, whipped, an' regularly bullied and even killed wouldn't give somebeast a motive, wot? Well, you're even more idiotic than I though y'flippin' bloomin' cad! Now, shut your considerably large mouth, y'great loony. Can't y'just leave us alone?"  
  
Mavarl almost laughed at this, but he controlled himself in time. This hare said he had a large mouth? He wondered wryly if she had ever examined her own in a mirror. He decided to ignore her comment.  
  
"Now," said Lord Mavarl cooly, "if I may continue? I haven't had an attack or act of disobedience like this in quite some time. And I can't have all the other slaves following your example. Besides, you've murdered some of my soldiers, which makes your crime worse. I'm actually quite impressed at the numbers you two did kill."  
  
He paused for a moment, appearing to think hard, even though the decision he had made earlier had already been carefully considered and thought out. "You have two options. One, since you've murdered my soldiers and disobeyed me, I will have to think of an interesting and incredibly painful way to kill you." Sky snorted. Mavarl ignored her.  
  
"Two," he paused again, still thinking. "Two, you could join my horde as captains. You two should feel honored. You have both impressed me by killing a good number of my hordebeasts with naught but a blade and stick. You'd each get a ship, crew, and weapons, along with slaves and a good share of the booty you collect. All you have to do is swear complete loyalty to me. You know what the wise choice is."  
  
Kyra was slightly amazed at this; a Captain? She was so disgusted that she didn't even feel the least bit flattered. Without fully realizing what she was doing, the ottermaid twisted on the ground and shoved the spear out of the rat's hands. She grabbed it and broke the stick in two, flinging it at Mavarl's feet. Quickly, all of the guards surrounded her, their spears all pointed at her throat. Sky quickly got to her feet too and stood beside Kyra.  
  
"Lord Mavarl, my grandmother was a warrior, and my father was a warrior after her. They taught me to fight for good, and to help those weaker than yourself. That is the code of the warrior, and Kyra Longfletch is going to be remembered in history as a warrior, not a villain. I am a warrior, like my father, and grandparents before me, and I refuse to be asked to deny what I believe in.  
  
"D'you hear me, rat? I'd rather die than serve a tyrant like you! And I thought that you actually had some brains in your skull! Didn't you guess that nothing would make a Longfletch join your ranks?" Sky nodded, and narrowed her eyes. Both of the maids were infuriated beyond reason. That pompous fool thought that he knew everything!  
  
Did he know nothing of honor and love? Of caring and of truth? Did he know nothing about the warrior's oath? To protect the weak, and to not take advantage of their strength, to be peaceful except in times of need? Of course not. Mavarl did not understand that. He had never understood that, and he never would understand it. That was why he was who he was. Powerful, but corrupt and evil.  
  
"Aye, I agree with Miss Longfletch here." Sky said, her tone neutral, unlike earlier. "You ruined our lives, an' we aren't gonna help you ruin the lives of other creatures, eh wot! A Hare of Salamandastron will never be seen servin' a flippin' bloomin' vermin tyrant! Never, d'you hear?" But the brave haremaid got no further, for Lord Mavarl waved his jewelry bedecked paw, and the rats closed in on the two brave warriors.  
  
"Make sure not to hurt them, now. I want them fresh and healthy for what I have in mind for them. You won't be so cocky soon, you two little would-be warriors! I gave you a chance, and you refused it. Since you won't help me, I must dispose of you and make you into an example for the other slaves. Pity, though. You both would have made fine captains."  
  
Even as the pair were grabbed and dragged forcibly out of the door, Sky still vented her wrath. "Oh, go an' boil your damn head y'great bloody tyrant!" The rest of Sky's curses were cut off as she and Kyra were dragged out of the Throne Room and out of the door. Lord Mavarl smiled. They really would have made fine captains.  
  
But, oh well! Now, at least, he would have the pleasure of devising a way to torture them. Either way, he won. Once they were out of the Throne Room, Sky was quiet. She would only be wasting her breath out here. Lord Mavarl couldn't possibly hear her now, and even if he did, what of it? Kyra looked at her friend, her brown eyes shining.  
  
They had been brave, and had acted like a true warrior. She now felt that she was one. Plotting rebellions was a fine pastime indeed, but it didn't take a lot of courage to speak bravely. What she and Sky had just done. that was brave.  
  
Kyra smiled. At least, if she died, she could say that she was a warrior. Killing people doesn't make you a warrior, but a brave heart does, and she had just proved to Mavarl that a warrior was what she was. Kyra Longfletch at last felt as if she had earned the title of warrior, and she felt a rush of pleasure flowing through her.  
  
Of course, that pleasure was quickly dampened when she realized that she was facing imminent torture and peril, but it did give her a small amount of consolation. The rat guards dragged the maids down many halls, gradually taking them lower and lower. Lord Mavarl didn't need to tell the slaves where they were being taken.  
  
Both already knew.  
  
Every slave knew.  
  
All the treasonous ones, all the ones that refused to submit to the tyrant's whims, they were all taken to the same place, and they were never seen again. Oh, of course, they were seen again, but only after they were dead, or else while they were dying. Kyra could still see the glassy eyes of the dying slaves that she had seen Mavarl torture.  
  
They were going to have to sit and wait in Lord Mavarl's dungeons until the rat warlord felt it was time to have them killed off. Meanwhile, who knew what would happen to them in the dungeons? Kyra vaguely wondered if Lord Mavarl had given orders for them to be starved or tortured. Honestly, she didn't care.  
  
As long as she survived for a night and a day, MacPhearsome or one of the reinforcements would set her and Sky free. Or, at least, she hoped that they would. After a few more minutes of silent dragging and thinking, both Kyra and Sky were thrown into a cell. The walls were solid stone, and the door was made of thick wood with a rusty padlock on the outside.  
  
There were no windows or bars, save one small one on the door. Straw covered the floor, and there was a small slot at the foot of the door for slipping a tray with food into the cell. Kyra wondered if they would get food at all.  
  
Both were silent. Sky sat in one corner, Kyra in the other. By mutual agreement, neither spoke. They just sat and waited for Lord Mavarl's pleasure, or help from MacPhearsome. Kyra fervently hoped for the latter.  
  
Several hours later, Kyra heard the door creak open. Sky had fallen asleep in her corner, but Kyra had stayed awake, her eyes shining in the darkness of their cell, and her brain running through all of the 'what ifs' that anyone could possibly imagine. Light shined through the door, and the ottermaid had to squint because of the sudden change in the murky darkness that had enveloped her only seconds earlier.  
  
She covered her dark eyes with a paw and winced as the blurry silhouette of Lord Mavarl came into view. Lord Mavarl stepped into the cell, four rats following him, all carrying spears. Lord Mavarl, she noted, didn't have a spear in his hand.  
  
His paw was instead curled around the wooden handle of a whip. After a few seconds her eyes had adjusted to the light, and the ottermaid stared up into the tyrants eyes. She remembered a bit of advice a friendly old hedgehog had given her when she had first been imprisoned as a gally slave on Mavarl's ship.  
  
"Always look 'em in th'eye, an' they'll back down. They is bloody cowards, vermin is. They won' bother you iff'n ye look 'em straight in th'eye an' show 'em you ain't 'fraid o' no bullying ragbags. That's all they is, anyway."  
  
Mavarl was slightly shocked, but soon got over the emotion that he so rarely felt. He motioned to his four henchrats with a paw, his face showing neither fear, nor pleasure, nor hatred, nor anger. Mavarl looked truly emotionless. Kyra knew what was going to happen long before the four rats behind Mavarl came forwards and grabbed her wrists.  
  
She didn't protest as they led her out of her cell, locking the door behind her. She didn't know how long they walked, minutes, hours, moments, but eventually the six arrived at a door. One of the rats hurried forwards and opened it, while Lord Mavarl, the other three guards, and Kyra walked in. The room that they entered was small, with no windows, and nothing in it except for a table.  
  
There was only the one door out.  
  
Kyra knew all too well what was about to happen. Two of the rats left the room immediately, while two others dragged her towards the table. She didn't even object when they slipped her back paws into shackles at one end of the table, and then shackled her front paws in the same manner. Her back was now exposed to the rat tyrant. Kyra took a deep breath, and waited.  
  
"Bare back," Lord Mavarl hissed. One of the rats took his knife and slit Kyra's tunic open until his knife reached her waist, neatly cutting the thin fabric of the garments that had once been a tunic. He then drew his knife along her waistline, creating a sort of skirt and top. Lastly, the rat yanked the top apart on the slit he had made, so that her back was exposed to Mavarl. She now wore a sort of backward vest.  
  
Kyra bit her lip, and waited for the pain to start.  
  
She heard both of the rat's leave and heard the door slam and lock behind them. She heard Lord Mavarl's whip whistle through the air and heard it crack sickeningly on her naked back. She winced, but did not cry out. She felt her eyes sting and knew that she was about to cry. She gasped slightly, and bit her lip. She would not give in to the tyrant by giving him the satisfaction of knowing she was in pain.  
  
She wouldn't scream or cry.  
  
Never.  
  
Not in front of him.  
  
The whip cracked against her back again and again, and she bit her lip even harder. She couldn't see anything now. Her eyes were foggy, and though tears threatened, they never fell. She tasted the salty, acrid taste of blood in her mouth; She had split her lip by biting on it.  
  
She didn't care.  
  
She continued biting as she felt the searing pain start to take over her senses. Then, she saw a blackness rising before her eyes. She licked the blood from her lips and lapsed slowly into unconsciousness.  
  
She wouldn't scream.  
  
She wouldn't give Lord Mavarl that satisfaction.  
  
She wouldn't.  
  
Wouldn't.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Kyra awoke to find herself in her own cell, her back searing with pain and her eyes blurred. Though her senses were dampened by the grogginess of just waking up after being dealt a great deal of pain, Kyra heard the door to the cell she and Sky shared slam and saw the last crack of light that shone through from a torch that hung outs Kyra awoke to find herself in her own cell, her back searing with pain and her eyes blurred.  
  
Though her senses were dampened by the grogginess of just waking up after being dealt a great deal of pain, Kyra heard the door to the cell she and Sky shared slam and saw the last crack of light that shone through from a torch that hung outside on a cold metal bracket disappear as the key to the dungeon cells turned in the lock, making sure that there was no way they could ever escape.  
  
Kyra felt extremely disheartened as the key sounded in the lock with a soft click, feeling as if not only the physical door of their cell had shut, but as if the door of hope, which they had been striving to reach with all their strength, had closed and locked itself as well. But, the ottermaid thought to herself, every locked door had a key that will open it.

They still had a chance, however slight, and they couldn't give up now. This was their darkest hour, and if they could survive this, they could survive anything, surely. Vaguely, Kyra remembered many children's stories that she'd listened to with eagerness beyond her comprehension now. As a pup, she had loved the stories about Warlords and Warriors who defeated them.

She hadn't realized how much emotion had been behind them. She hadn't ever thought about how the warriors had felt while conquering, how they had hated their enemies the way she hated Mavarl. Was she a real Warrior? Was this they way they felt all the time? Sad at the world's confusion and pain?  
  
She shook her head. All warriors must feel something like these emotions. They must know the pain that the evil cause, and hate them for it. But, at the same time, they are scared of their own hate for the warlords. The two hates come from the same evil and frightening emotion. Deep inside their soul of souls, were vermin and goodbeasts really that different?  
  
It seemed as if both had many similarities, and what frightening similarities they were to think about. Both killed, and both felt the same soul-blackening hate. All creatures felt hate at some point. Didn't that make them evil? Her confusion momentarily blocked out her pain, but the throbbing welts that Lord Mavarl had left on her back were still present, feeling as if a thousand knives were digging into the tender flesh that covered her aching bones.  
  
She felt the welts on her back with a paw and winced. How long had Lord Mavarl kept whipping her after he had knocked her unconscious? It certainly felt to her like the rat had gone on for a while, whipping her with a vengeance. Soon, new fears crept into her all to vulnerable mind.  
  
What had that red madness that had possessed her been? The question had been at the back of Kyra's mind ever since she had seen that red veil of madness come over her eyes, acting as a blindfold to the world of sense and knowledge.  
  
All she had known was the love of battle and all she had felt was a sick thirst for rat blood. The thought of killing them while in that state of mind made her sick even as she thought about it. What had she been thinking?  
  
She hadn't been thinking. This thought startled Kyra, fully awakening her at last. She hadn't been using her brain. She had been like a mere animal, lusting after the blood of her enemies. She hadn't been thinking at all. It was as if she were some sort of crazed beast during a hunt, tongue lolling and steel blade swinging.  
  
She hadn't thought about risks, pain, loss, or even about what she had been doing. She hadn't thought at all. She had just done as the feelings had overwhelmed. She had been running on instinct.  
  
Kyra shook her head slowly, revising her last thought aloud. Her voice was low and soft, and it threatened to crack. "No." She said softly, her eyes widening as her pupils dilated in shock. "I wasn't runnin' on instinct alone. I felt one emotion. I felt hate. Anger an' hate. S'all I felt. I was mad. Really mad." This realization had a tremendously overwhelming emotional effect on Kyra.  
  
The ottermaid, drained after thinking all of these depressing and confusing thoughts, flopped lazily back onto her pallet of straw and winced as her welts hit the ground. Kyra would have fallen back asleep with her thoughts swirling about in her head had not Sky turned about in her sleep and, hearing Kyra moving about, came slowly to her senses. The haremaid opened one eye and shot up from the pile of straw in her corner.  
  
Kyra yawned and turned over, not wanting to stay in such a confusing and terribly tiring plain of existence. This was a mistake. Sky saw the scars upon her friend's back, fresh blood covering them, and winced. Kyra had received a very bad beating from Mavarl indeed, if that was the condition of the raw flesh of her back.  
  
She wondered what Kyra had done to anger the Warlord into such a frenzy. Not showing signs of pain, most likely. Kyra often did such things when being tortured. "Whipping?" she said, simply. Though the tone of her voice carried an almost emotionless and flat quality, the emotion in Sky's face was read like an open book by Kyra's soft brown eyes.  
  
Kyra knew, without having to speak, how Sky felt. She knew that the haremaid pitied her deeply, but didn't want to show it. Kyra was thankful, for such gestures of kindness were unnecessary in her situation. She didn't need someone sobbing over her scarred and bleeding back. It wasn't as if crying was going to help heal them any faster.  
  
She would deal with the pain, and Sky would try to support her without becoming sickeningly mushy and annoyingly sympathetic. Kyra nodded and turned around, showing her friend her still bleeding back a second time. The tunic was still covering it some, sticking to her torn and bloody flesh. Though Sky wouldn't offer mental relief, as it would annoy Kyra, she could offer physical relief.  
  
They were not in the possession of any medical supplies, but Sky saw no harm in looking at the wound. Maybe there was something she could do to ease the pain. Though the haremaid knew instinctively that she could do nothing to help her suffering friend, her eyes wouldn't peel themselves away from her friend's blood-stained tunic. She sighed, scooting forwards and preparing to at least attempt to dislodge the dirty tunic from the fresh wounds.  
  
Sky peeled apart the flaps Lord Mavarl had made by cutting her tunic apart down the back and shook her head. "He really took out some o' his anger on you, eh wot!" The haremaid stated dryly, examining the wound with a critical eye.  
  
"I'll wager he'll be after me next. But that doesn't matter. 'Fraid there's nothin' I c'n do, wot. Not extremely talented at dressing wounds. M'even worse at dressin' 'em when there are no supplies to dress 'en with, doncha know. Rather hard using invisible bandages." Kyra laughed slightly, though both knew the laugh and the joke had been forced. Neither said anything for a long time.  
  
Kyra, surprisingly enough, was the first one to break the silence that hung over them like a fog, pressing in on their very souls. Her words were not at all cheerful, but who could expect them to be? After all, they were locked in a dungeon without food, water, or medical supplies, and were going to be killed if they weren't rescued soon.  
  
Waggling her rudder and using it to scratch a particularly irritated spot on her welt infested back, Kyra told the haremaid the bad news that she had been trying extremely hard to forget. Eventually, the ottermaid gave in, thinking Sky had a right to know that she was going to be tortured just as she herself had on the morrow.  
  
"Mavarl only did me first," Kyra said, her voice morose and grim. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Sky, but I'm 'fraid that it's your turn t'morrow night. I jus' wish there was I way I c'd get us both out of 'ere 'fore then. Not much fun, just sitting here and waiting for whippings and worse, is it? Mavarl said that we'd be killed next morning, in front of everyone, after both of us've been whipped enough. If the rebellion doesn't work, we're dead, Sky."  
  
Sky nodded gravely. Kyra spread herself out across her pile of straw, leaving her back upward to try and dry the cuts and stop the bleeding.  
  
"I daresay your tunics ruined," Sky stated matter-of-factly to put words into the silence that had followed Kyra's grave announcement. Sky had given no outward sign that she had heard Kyra, but the ottermaid knew her best friend well. She knew that Sky had heard every word she had said. The ottermaid didn't blame Sky for not wanting to discuss the topic she had so unsubtly introduced.  
  
Besides, a ripped top was the least of her worries at the moment. Death was staring her in the face, and who knew how long she would be alive to feel the pain that coursed down her every fiber? The pain was constant. Of course, Kyra had been whipped before, but never for so long or with as much ferocity.  
  
It was all Mavarl's fault, after all. He was the one who had brought this down on all of them. Why couldn't those who thought they were all knowing and all powerful, omnipotent and born to be the leaders of vast hordes of vermin, see how cruel they were? Why didn't they understand that their hate was only hurting others and eventually bringing about their own destruction?  
  
It was then that Kyra was sure that she would kill Mavarl. If it was the last thing she did, she would kill that rat. Even if she died doing it, Kyra Longfletch would kill Mavarl and clear him from the face of the earth forever. "I'll kill hellspawn," she muttered.  
  
Sky cocked an ear and leaned forwards. "What did you say, Kyra m'gel?" she asked, having only half heard the ottermaid when she had voiced her thoughts.  
  
Kyra did not answer at once, and Sky did not comment upon the subject again for several moments. The haremaid knew that Kyra was trying to control her temper, to dampen the inner fire that raged on inside her breast, eating away at her soul. Sky didn't comment, but she could almost visibly see the struggle going on inside Kyra's mind, as if it were almost a tangible thing.  
  
"I said," said Kyra through gritted teeth, "that I'm going to kill him. Don't care how long it takes me, but I'll do it. I'll die killin' that damn rat if I have to. He's got to be killed, and the day I kill that spawn of hell is the day that I will be at peace. You know how I feel, Sky. You know how much he's tortured both of us. I jus' want t'make sure I give the scum back some of what he gave me before I die."  
  
Sky knew when to not use her sense of humor, and this was one of those times. She put a paw on Kyra's shoulder, and pulled back as Kyra winced and tensed her muscles.  
  
"We'll be out of here soon, I daresay, Kyra m'gel! No worries, eh wot! You c'n kill that. . . that. . . I can't think of a word vile enough to describe him. Just give that ratface a few whacks for me. Who knows, if you whacked him in the face, it might act'ly improve his looks a might, wot! Seasons knows he bally well needs the help, eh wot! Just wait for MacThingummy to get us out and then we go rat huntin', y'great lump of an otter! What d'you say t'that, Waterwalloper?"  
  
Kyra looked up at her best friend, and smiled.  
  
"I say, lets do it t'gether. I'd rather die out there fightin' then at Mavarls whim or in this bloody cell. I know you feel the same. T'isn't right fer anybeast to stay cooped up like this. 'Tis un'ealthy. Sometimes I think I'll go mad with the pain an' all. Not even being able to call your own body yer own is hard t'bare. It's hard to believe a beast could be so cruel. . ."  
  
Sky nodded, and went back to her corner, her own thoughts running through her head. Soon, both the friends were asleep. They would need all the energy that they could get for tomorrow night. It would all be over soon!  
  
Kyra awoke the next evening to a scratching at the door. Her ears pricked, and her brown eyes shimmered in the dark. Despite the bravery and courage that the ottermaid had developed over seasons and seasons of slavery, Kyra still felt the fur on the back of her neck prickle at the unwarranted sound.  
  
Sky had also heard, and was pulling herself to her feet. Kyra had slept for the entire time, and Sky, who had awakened often out of nervousness, had not had the heart to wake her. She had thought that Kyra would need time to recuperate some from Lord Mavarl's whipping.  
  
Kyra likewise pulled herself up and walked cautiously towards the door, her senses dragging themselves out of the grogginess of sleep and opening like a flower, picking up every thing that was possible to be sensed. If it was a rat outside, Kyra mused, then they would have used their keys to open the door immediately.  
  
If it wasn't a rat, it must be. . . "MacPhearsome?" Kyra whispered through the door, "is that you out there? Its Kyra and Sky! We're in 'ere!" There was silence for a moment, but then an answering whisper came from outside the cell.  
  
"Och! 'Tis good tah see ya again, Kyra Longfletch!" The voice carried a wonderfully familiar accent and tone. It was MacPhearsome at last! Kyra literally felt her heart jump inside her breast as the voice wound it's way into her ears and finally into her brain.  
  
He continued. "Is yon 'aremaiden in there with you, riverdog?" Kyra grinned, and looked back at Sky. The haremaid bounded forwards to whisper through the door as well. Kyra winked, and mouthed 'its MacPhearsome' to Sky before answering.  
  
"Yes, Sky's in 'ere wid me," Kyra said in a hoarse whisper that she somehow managed to force a businesslike quality on. She licked her dry lips and coughed once, softy of course, before continuing with her brief and quiet message. It was important that she and MacPhearsome weren't overheard. If they were, their entire plans could be ruined!  
  
"C'n you get us out, MacPhearsome? An' are there any guards outside t'hear us?" There was a faint rustling of feathers from outside.  
  
"Aye, so I can," said MacPhearsome in his odd northern accent. "Ah'll be only a moment. Like ye've said, there is still one guard left after I got in 'ere. Ah've got tah go an' take care o' yon longtail guard an' take the keys tah your cell from him. Ah got your reinforcements ahs weel. There are a great number o' hares and seadogs outside with weapons ready t'come in an' help. The slaves have been alerted as well. What you'll have tah do is go an' get them ready. Ah'll give ye the keys to th' compound when I get them."  
  
There was more rustling, and MacPhearsome was gone. Even though she couldn't see what was going on outside her cell, nor could she hear any sounds that might signify a scuffle, Kyra felt her heart pounding inside her head, and was aware of her own loud and rapid breathing. She grinned over at Sky and noticed that the haremaid was in an extremely similar condition.  
  
Then, they both waited.  
  
Sky sat in her corner, nibbling on a piece of straw, while Kyra fiddled with a fraying thread on her torn tunic. "Damn," Kyra muttered, as she tried to find a way to fix her tunic, "Mavarl's really done a number on me clothes, dirty as they are."  
  
"Of course," Kyra drawled in a disgusted tone, "It's not like this rag matters to me. Still, 'tis better than goin' around completely naked, eh? There's no way I'll be able to fix this. I wouldn't want to if I had some decent clothes." Sky yawned and spat out her piece of straw. She rolled her eyes and grinned.  
  
"Kyra Longfletch, why are you thinking of clothes at a time like this. Soon, we'll be free! Aren't you more worried about death an' killin' Lord Mavarl then your appearance, ol' gel? An' another thing, Miss Longfletch, any creature with any decency in their bloomin' hearts would have those nasty rags the slaves wear burned right off. Don't worry. If you're dead, you won't care, an' if you live, you'll get better clothes. Why worry now?"  
  
Kyra laughed too, and nodded.  
  
"Thinkin' about death is too depressing. It's just too quiet in this cell. Me minds runnin' over all sorts o' things." She sighed, finally tying her tunic up below her breasts, knotting it firmly in back. "There" she mumbled as she inspected her handiwork. If she died, would her clothes really matter? And besides, if she was free, she could surely get new, and cleaner, clothes.  
  
"Tunic was getting a mite to small on you anyway," Sky muttered. Kyra giggled, but was silenced at a look from the hare. "Shut up, Waterwalloper, I think MacPhearsome's back!"  
  
Kyra nodded, and crept slowly towards the door, her ear listening for any sound. Then, she heard a scrape as MacPhearsome slid one of the keys in through the tray slot. Kyra grinned, and picked it up. "Thanks, MacPhearsome!" she whispered to the door. "Now, open the door from the outside."  
  
It took a little while for MacPhearsome to find the right key, and to insert it with his beak, but in a matter of minutes the eagle had opened the heavy cell door. Kyra and Sky rushed out, the ottermaid holding the compound key in her paw. She ran up to the golden eagle and threw her arms about his neck. The eagle nudged her off, rather embarrassed.  
  
"Och, lassie, there's no need fer tha' nau. We'd best be goin' tah yon slave compound fer your friends afore yon longtails come an' find you both gone from yer cell!" Kyra and Sky nodded, and ran out of the dungeons. The first part of their escape was done, but now came the even harder part. They had to sneak out of Castle Fortguard without alerting Lord Mavarl or getting killed.  
  
Sky pushed open the door that led down into the dungeons, and stepped out into the sunlit stone passageway of Castle Fortguard. Kyra followed, clutching the key in her paw. "C'mon Sky. First stop, the armory. We've got t'get as many weapons fer the slaves as we can, seein' as we're in here, an' I want to reclaim me granmums bow now. It's been many seasons now."  
  
Sky nodded, and the two headed up a nearby flight of stairs at a swift pace, only slowing down to look for guards at each corner they turned. You always had to be careful in a place like Fortguard. It was well named, and Mavarl always had a regular battalion of guards posted about the place.  
  
The Armory was on the second floor, and both creatures knew where it was perfectly. When they had been younger they had both gone up there to polish the various swords, daggers, spears, and such for Lord Mavarl's horde. A few doorways and corridors later, they were at the door to the armory.  
  
Kyra pushed the wooden door open with a slight creak and stepped in. Sky pushed her friend aside and dove into the piles and piles of daggers, sabers, spears, cutlasses, and all manners of weapons. Kyra grinned, and ran in as well.  
  
Sky picked up a weapon belt, and dug through the piles, looking for blades to fill it. Kyra too chose a weapon belt, and she too dug through the piles, but she didn't touch a single one of the blades that she found. She was looking for one weapon in particular. Sky had filled her first weapon belt and was trying to fill a second.  
  
She strapped the first about her waist and stuck a golden cutlass into the second. If she could fill a few of these, then there would be plenty of weapons for the slaves to use! Kyra wasn't interested in any of the weapons that her paws touched. Her mind was fixed on the image of the weapon she had always dreamed of owning, the weapon that she had loved above all others, her grandmother's bow.  
  
And then, Kyra looked up onto the wall above the door, and her brown eyes locked upon what she saw there. A large longbow hung above the entranceway, a green quiver with green fletched arrows next to it. The ottermaid recognized it immediately, though she hadn't seen her grandmother's bow in years. Ever since she had been kidnapped, in fact.  
  
She walked towards it, and took it off the wall, strapping the bow across her shoulder and putting the quiver over the other. She was still for a moment, savoring the feeling of possessing her grandmothers bow at last. She then started to fill her weapon belt with all manner of weapons to bring to the slave compound.  
  
Soon, Kyra had three weapon belts above her hips. Sky had three too, as well as a saber in her paw and a fourth belt across her breast. She grinned at Kyra, who took her bow in her paws and notched an arrow to its string. Then, both warriors stepped out of the door.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

Sky poked her head out of the door and looked tentatively down the passageway, lit only by soft torchlight. The soft, glowing rays emitted by the fires, which were sitting just above the torch brackets, placed strategically on the wall, fell on Sky's anxious face, casting it into shadow.  
  
Kyra's face too was covered in light and shadow, her expression grim and her heart pounding in her chest despite all of her efforts to stop its clamoring. Both were nervous, though both put on an air of nonchalance, more to keep their own morale up than their companion's. Kyra was the second to pass through the door, and the torchlight on her face intensified.  
  
Many different shadows, twisting and merging into one another as the torchlight flickered, were cast upon the stone floor behind her, each torch making its own separate darkness. Sky too had many shadows cast behind her. Kyra noticed these before she noticed her own, and she stared transfixed at the dark patches covering the ground for more than a few moments.  
  
The shadows were like them, and yet, not like them. Was there really a shadow demon lurking inside of her? An inner demon that made her mad? Was an inner anger and hate the cause of the red madness that had possessed her every fiber and her very core? Or, was there a little bit of a shadow in everyone, falling over his or her heart and creating hate even for the kindest.  
  
Kyra was a goodbeast, but she still hated with ferocity almost unimaginable. Was everybeast like that? Weren't they just the same, vermin and goodbeasts, if they both hated? Kyra shook her head, trying to dispel thoughts that wouldn't be dislodged. They had been embedded in her brain, and it would be a long time indeed before the wound that they had created was soothed.  
  
Sighing, Kyra looked about the long, winding, and dark passageway ahead of them. No guards yet. Lord Mavarl never had his guards stay in one place, but preferred to have them walk around, hoping that they would be easier for them to spot intruders. He also didn't really expect anyone to attack him, so his security wasn't that tight.  
  
Sky also secretly thought that MacPhearsome had been here before he had let them out and had dealt with several of the guards that they would have run into. A bloody saber by the door of the next room and a few small bones confirmed this. Kyra saw them too and gulped.  
  
She was very glad MacPhearsome was on their side, and not with the enemy. That bird was dangerous indeed, and a force to be gravely reckoned with! She wondered how Lord Mavarl had managed to capture him in the first place, but her mind didn't breech this subject for too long; there were more important things to think about, like how they were going to sneak out of Castle Fortguard.  
  
The ottermaid and haremaid crept down the passageway, their ears pricked and their eyes alert for any sign of movement. There was none. Obviously, the guards were all in their chambers, drunk. The ottermaid was vaguely surprised by the lack of security. Mavarl, she knew, was a very capable and organized leader, dangerous too.  
  
He had his troops trained as so many lapdogs were. They would obey his slightest whim lest they be slain. Then, a sickening thought came to Kyra, and it took her several tries to vocalize it, as the words kept sticking in her dry throat. "Sky," she said, her eyes widening just a bit, and her tone kept soft. "'Ave you noticed 'ow there are no guards about?"  
  
Sky had noticed, but she didn't think much of it. If the rat was stupid enough to leave the armory unguarded, who cared? It only presented an advantage for them. Though, now that she looked over Kyra's expression with a critical eye, she realized that Kyra thought it was serious. She must have a good reason for her current emotion and its related actions.  
  
The haremaid, taking on a look of mock indignation at the ottermaid's comment, responded promptly and with a soft voice that she rarely used. "O'course I noticed the bloomin' flippin' guard-type blighters weren't here guardin' th'bloody armory, eh wot! Probably sleepin', doncha know! Lazy brutes."  
  
Kyra was still uneasy about the absence of the guards, though, and proceeded to tell Sky the reason that she had hypothesized to explain their actions. It was simple, really. Mavarl wasn't keeping a close eye on them, and they had snuck off to have a drink and a good lie-in.  
  
The reason that she suspected Mavarl was busy was the thing that made her uneasy. "Sky, they aren't 'ere 'cause Mavarl is busy with sommat, obviously. Abandoned their post t'wet their whistles, I'll wager. But, do you have any clue as to why Mavarl might be busy?"  
  
Sky's eyed widened slightly too as realization came upon her as forcefully as a thunderbolt. She nodded rather slowly, barely suppressing a shudder. "Aye," she said slowly, reading Kyra's thoughts as if they were an open book.  
  
"I can take a guess at it. Th'blighter's busy makin' up a spectacular way fer us to bally well die, doncha know! That's why he's busy. He's plotting the most painful way t'kill us." Sky's voice trailed off as she let the statement fly down the corridor. Though she had spoken almost inaudibly, she heard her friend clearly.  
  
"C'mon, Sky. We're bein' silly. We sh'd jus' forget this an' thank our good fortune that there ain't no guards t'stop us. It isn't as if we didn' already know what we were getting in to. Mavarl plannin' to torture an' kill us isn't anything new to us now, is it?"  
  
Kyra tightened her grip on her grandmother's bow, and tried to walk as quietly as she could with all the swords she had at her waist. Feeling the grain of the wood against her paws, Kyra squeezed even tighter, taking slight comfort from the feeling of the bow that she had lost so long ago.  
  
The two continued down the corridor, turning at the first corner. Kyra had peeped a cautious eye down it first to make sure there were no rat guards, but even her eyes didn't pick up the form of a guard approaching, and just as they were appearing to go down it Sky stared at the ground, mouth open. Sky silently pointed to the shadow that slowly crept around the corner of the armory corridor.  
  
A rat's head poked around and its ugly mouth dropped open in shock. It grappled for its sword, but in the process its paw snagged on it's poorly made sheath and belt! That small delay was all the time Kyra needed. Even though she hadn't used a bow and arrows in years, she remembered how to do it immediately.  
  
Her paws pulled back on the string until it would go no farther, and let the green fletched arrow fly straight through the rat's throat. The rat was dead as soon as the arrow hit him. Kyra looked at the freshly killed carcass with a slight smile on her face.  
  
Yes, Kyra Longfletch was still dangerous with a bow. Soon, Mavarl would discover just how dangerous she was. All she had to do was make her way through the twisting corridor of the castle and find her way out onto the island. Then, Mavarl would get what was coming to him.  
  
Kyra and Sky were both silent for a long while, each not wanting to be the first to move, and both frightened that more rat guards would come and discover their comrade dead. Though vermin had no real affection for each other, or even a sense of loyalty to each other, they wouldn't want a bunch of slaves running about killing people.  
  
Besides, Mavarl would most likely reward whoever caught either of them. Kyra snorted. "We're bein' silly again, Sky." The ottermaid spoke in a dull droll, trying to sound bored with the whole matter. "If we don't get goin' soon, someone's bound t'find us standin' 'ere while we're gawkin' like idiots."  
  
Sky nodded, slowly ebbing back into the reality of their situation. Resisting the impulse to clear her head by shaking it vigorously, the haremaid waggled her ears and sniffed regally.  
  
"You mean you're the one standin' there gawkin, doncha know. I wasn't doin' anything. Waiting for you t'catch your jolly ol' breath, wot! Time t'get moving. If we want a chance of defeating that slimy rat darin' t'call himself 'Lord', we'd best get cracking. Top hole, ol' thing."  
  
Kyra had to laugh as she listened to her friends well-spoken excuse. Shaking her head in amusement, even in such a dire situation as theirs, Kyra gave Sky a grin. "You sure know 'ow t'lighten up a situation where we c'd very well all end up dead, don't ye, y'great lump. Can't believe you, sometimes. But I'm glad I've got you beside me in this rebellion-thing. Couldn't do it without ye, y'know, Sky."  
  
The haremaid grinned comically at her friend, waggling her ears and sniffing again. She tilted her nose upwards, taking on a smug appearance. "Well now, there's a nice change," the haremaid said in what she tried to make sound like an offended tone. She failed miserably. It is indeed very hard to sound offended when one is clutching one's stomach to prevent from bursting out in wild gales of laughter.  
  
"Glad t'see you're finally appreciating me, eh wot! All the things I've done for you, Longfletch, an' you finally notice what a valuable friend I am. Took you long enough, Riverwhalloper!" The two couldn't stand it any longer. They both burst into laughter, despite the grim prospects ahead of them.  
  
Sky and Kyra waited a few moments to make sure that no other rats were nearby, and then stepped over the bleeding carcass of the guard and turned the corner. As the pair made their way towards the Entrance Hall of Castle Fortguard, they noticed many more piles of bones and weapons. MacPhearsome certainly had been busy before he had freed them.  
  
Kyra looked at the pieces of dead rat warily, and averted her eyes. She didn't like imagining what MacPhearsome had done to them, though she had a pretty good idea. How could that bird eat something as disgusting as a rat? She hoped his tastes didn't run towards otter or hare, though she knew MacPhearsome wouldn't eat them.  
  
Kyra and Sky soon reached the staircase that led down to the Entrance Hall, and they took a moment to look down the stairs and make sure no rat guards were coming. After a few moments of silence, the pair padded down the stairs on silent feet, their senses open and alert for any sign of an approaching enemy.  
  
To Kyra's surprise, they didn't meet any resistance on the stairwell. She understood why when she reached the bottom of the stairs. "Ugh!" was all she could bring herself to say as she looked at the bloody carcasses of about half a dozen rats that lay sprawled in awkward positions at the bottom of the stairs.  
  
Sky nodded, and gestured to a few golden feathers that were scattered about the bodies. Kyra picked one up, and stuck it among the green feathers of one of her arrows.  
  
"This," she stated quietly as she tucked the arrow back into her quiver, "is for Lord Mavarl, and him alone." Sky didn't respond, and after a few more moments, both of the maids ran out of the front door. Of course, MacPhearsome had also dealt with the guards outside as well. He had, however, not eaten these.  
  
Both of them had been propped up against the great stone wall of Castle Fortguard with their helmets covering their sightless eyes and their spears at attention. They looked as if they were still alive, and merely dozing. Kyra nodded her approval. The eagle had done his work well indeed. The two slaves held their weapons close so that they wouldn't shift and bang into each other, and ran for the Slave compound.  
  
After a few minutes, Kyra and Sky reached the wall of the compound. MacPhearsome hadn't had the time or stealth to attack the guards in front of the slave compound, so they had been left for Kyra and Sky to deal with. The pair crept around the circular wooden wall until they were near the front door. Then, Kyra stopped, her mouth hanging open.  
  
She nudged Sky in the ribs, and they both giggled. These rats were Bloodclaw and Doomfang, the same rats that had escorted them to Lord Mavarl the day before! The two had to bite their tongues and use all their willpower to keep from giggling as they listened to the rat's converse.  
  
Bloodclaw scratched his ear and looked up at the huge Doomfang, showing a crooked tooth in his open maw. He refrained from speaking for a moment, not really wanting to involve his stupid companion in a conversation.  
  
Still, despite this annoyance, the talkative rat could not refrain himself from stating what was on his mind. "D'jew 'ear about them two slaves wot killed all them guards t'other day? Lord Mavarl's gonna kill 'em t'morrer mornin' everyone says."  
  
Doomfang nodded sagely, contemplating with some perverted pleasure what Mavarl might consider doing to the two rebellious slaves. Mavarl's punishments were always creative and extremely painful, and all of the rats traditionally gathered to watch the punishments carried out. The slaves gathered too, though they always did so unwillingly.  
  
"Aye, so I did. Th' ones we h'escorted t' Mavarl. One of 'em got a whippin' las' night. Funny thing though, I didn't 'ear no screamin'. Most beasts would be screamin' if they was getting a whipping. I 'eard Lord Mavarl did it personally 'imself!"  
  
Bloodclaw scratched his chin, and his eyes gleamed wickedly as a new idea came to him. Of course, though Bloodclaw was vaguely smart, he was still a rat. Rats, for the most part, were jittery creatures and extremely idiotic. Mavarl, of course, was an exception to this commonly used rule. Though some might call it a stereotype, it is, for the most part, a true one.  
  
"Oi, Doomy, which one d'you think will die first? I'm puttin' my bet on that Otter-type one. Didjer see the way Lord Mavarl looked at 'er? I was on board o' th' ship the night Lord Mavarl captured 'er. Jus' a liddle runt then. I think Mavarl's got a grudge against 'er fer warnin' that Otter Holt place that we was comin'!"  
  
Doomfang shook his great shaggy head, some hidden depth of his extremely tiny brain telling him that he did not agree with the statement his more intelligent friend had just made. Though Bloodclaw was not extremely intelligent, he was made to look like a regular genius when compared to Doomfang.  
  
"No, matey. It'll be the Rabbit wot dies first, mark me words! Did yer see the way that Otter was attackin' those guards yesterday? I didn', but I 'eard that 'er eyes turned all red like, an' she didn't stop killin' an' wavin' 'er stick about 'till somebeast knocked 'er out."  
  
Kyra clamped a paw over Sky's mouth as the haremaid opened it to let out a stream of insults at being called rabbit. She shook her head, and picked up one of the blades from the belts above her hips. She held it blunt end first, and waited for Sky to do the same. 'Ready?' she mouthed at Sky as they crept closer to the guards. 'One. Two. Three. Go!'  
  
At that instant, Kyra and Sky both leapt forwards and brought the ends of their blades down on the heads of Bloodclaw and Doomfang. Crack! Bloodclaw fell down with Kyra next to him, putting a paw on his chest. Thwap! Doomfang fell to the ground with an audible thump. Sky grinned and wiggled her ears over his unconscious form.  
  
Kyra wasn't sure, but the distinctly thought that she heard Sky say something along the lines of: "That'll teach you t'call Skythistle Mornin'dew Meadowsong a bloody Rabbit!" Then, as quietly as they could, Kyra and Sky opened the large double doors that led into the slave compound.  
  
As soon as the doors were opened the pair ran into the compound, struggling to take off weapon belts as they ran. It was only a matter of moments before they reached the Shelter in the middle of the compound. Kyra didn't even bother to stop as she held out a paw to push open the door. The pair speeded through the flimsy doorway, panting and throwing weapons into a pile on the floor.  
  
All of the slaves were silent for a moment before they all started talking at once. 'Kyra! Sky! Lord Mavarl didn't kill yer!' 'They're alive! Lookit! They're alive!' 'I never seen such weapons all me life? Where did yew get those?' 'Are we goin' to h'escape now?' 'Oh, Kyra marm, you're an angel. An angel, I swear it!' 'Sky! Y'look as though you've come back from th' dead! 'Ow did you ever manage t'get out o those dungeons?' 'I knew ye would come back!'  
  
Kyra held up a paw, and after a while, the slaves quieted down. Kyra noted this with pleasure, extremely pleased that they were not obeying commands as readily, even if they were from her. At least it meant that they didn't think them second nature anymore.  
  
"Now," said Kyra in a firm voice. "All the babes and elders 'ad better stay here. The rest of you, male or female, had better get into two groups. All of you need t'pick up some weapons, first. We'll need a third of you to stay 'ere and guard those who can't fight, while the rest of you follow me 'n Sky to attack the guards."  
  
Sky nodded and tossed weapons to the two groups that were forming. The rebellious slaves took them eagerly, awaiting with a combination of nervousness and joy at their chance for revenge the coming rebellion. Soon, the slaves would be able to pay the guards back for the torture they had endured lash for lash!  
  
"Now, we've got reinforcements from MacPhearsome, th' golden eagle. He brought Otters and Hares from Salamandastron and Holt Wotsitsname to 'elp us fight. We don't know how many there are, or what their strength is, but they'll be with us."  
  
Kyra grinned, "Aye! Now, if we do this right, Lord Mavarl will be free forever!" Kyra walked along the lines of slaves that had formed, checking that they each had a weapon. Of course, many of them hadn't used a sword or spear before, but they needed all the help that they could get!"  
  
Kyra stood in front of the third of beasts that was to stay at the Shelter, guarding the babes and the elderly. "Well now, you 'ad better be ready for any attack. I think we'll be able t'keep Mavarl's cronies busy outside, but we need some of you 'ere just in case t'protect th' liddle 'uns. D'you understand? Send one or two outside t'keep a lookout for approaching vermin. Switch every once in a while? Is this clear?"  
  
The slaves all nodded, holding up their weapons and saluting as best they could. Kyra smiled at them, saluted smartly with her left paw, and walked towards the second group.  
  
"Alright, all to attention!" Sky called out, grinning at Kyra. "All o' you lily livered cads are here t'prove to Lord Mavarl that we want Freedom! Now, lets go out there an' show that rat what we're made of! Are you with me?"  
  
The slaves all nodded, for none of them dared to let out a warcry. The rebellion was still a secret, after all. Kyra nodded, and she and Sky both led the armed slaves out into the compound and towards the door.  
  
It was surprising how quietly the slaves were able to move through the littered compound, considering all the rotten logs and broken bowls that were scattered around. The Slave Compounds had never exactly been a clean or hygienic place. Kyra could almost hear the heartbeat of each of the soldiers that followed her and could almost feel the sweat trickling down their necks.  
  
Her own heartbeat reverberated in her ears as she walked quietly towards the gate of the Compound. Soon, with a bit of luck, Lord Mavarl would be dead and the slaves would be free! They didn't know how long they waited there, though it seemed like hours. It might have only been moments, or even minutes. Kyra's eyes were fixed on the sky above her.  
  
It was just turning dark, and the horizon was tinted a reddish pink from the setting sun. It would have been beautiful if the circumstances hadn't been so drastic and nerve wracking. Kyra was now grateful for her tied up tunic, since it exposed her fur to the cool night breeze that wound around the small army. It was almost never cool in the Far West.  
  
And then, against the setting sun, she saw the black silhouette of MacPhearsome against the pink and gold of the setting sun, she smiled, and raised her head to the sky, her vocals vibrating as she let out a new warcry. One she hadn't used before.  
  
"FREEEEEDOOOOOM!"  
  
All the slaves raised their weapons into the air and waved them about, echoing Kyra's outcry in joyous strains. It rang through the air, symbolizing the great battle that was to come. Kyra stood proudly at their head, watching on with mounting pride and excitement as they belted out the warcry, using all the strength in their lungs to do so.  
  
"FREEEEDOOOOOOM!"


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

The army of slaves had charged out of the gates, yelling and waving their weapons with as much excitement and vigor as they could muster. The transformation in these once meek and mild beasts was astounding! Only a few days ago, they had been bending under the lash without a bit of hope between them. They had been forced to live on scraps of food and work in the unbearable heat.  
  
They had tasted their own blood, and had been forced to ignore the salty sweat trickling into the fresh and gaping wounds on their backs. But now, they were fighting back. Now, they would have their revenge against their tormentors. They would be able to kill the creatures that had discriminated against them for so long, that had kept them in miserable slavery and servitude for seasons.  
  
This day, as red as blood, was theirs. This page of history would be written in gold, and in blood.  
  
Kyra and Sky were at the small army's head, the young ottermaid with her Granddam's bow drawn to the point and the haremaid clutching a silver saber with a jeweled hilt in her paw. Both dived in among the vermin, Sky hacking with her sword and Kyra shooting every which way with her arrows.  
  
The ottermaiden also discovered that the training she had done with her grandmother was quickly returning to her. Her aim was not perfect- it did not take perfect aim to kill a vermin-, but it was swiftly returning to her. She was remembering the eight seasons she had spent training, and the eight seasons that she had spent under the lash.  
  
On occasion, Kyra caught an arrow that a vermin had shot at her, and took pride in the fact that her Grandmother had taught her this child's trick so well. She swiftly nocked the unfamiliar arrows to her bowstring and sent them back at the beasts that had shot them. The senders were always killed instantly with their own arrows.  
  
Kyra took a fierce pride in her fighting ability that day. She hadn't changed much since the last time she had wielded a bow and arrows. Also, the ottermaid discovered that she could draw the bowstring back farther on her grandmothers bow. Kyra had just been able to pull it back far enough to shoot an arrow when she was little, let alone draw it to the point. Her body had not been strong enough.  
  
But now, her field labor had built up her back and arm muscles, allowing her to use the bow with ease and skill. She now had the proper strength to draw the great bow. Before, Kyra had been forced to use smaller bows (very small ones), to train. Though she had been able to use her grandmothers bow- scarcely, since she could hardly draw the arrow back because of her childlike body at that time-, she had not been able to use it well.  
  
Despite the bloodlust and the strange joy that she took in the battle, part of Kyra was still nervous and wary. What if the red madness came upon her again? What would happen then? She shuddered inwardly, catching a black fletched arrow in her paw and notching it skillfully to her shaft, shooting it neatly back at the rat who had sent it, piercing his jugular.  
  
She sighed. If the red madness did envelope her again as it had the one time, what could she do? The first time it had seemed as if she could do nothing to throw it off. All around her, the clashing of blades could be heard. Suddenly, Kyra felt a hot, searing pain shoot up her arm, and noticed a deep, ugly gash on her skin.  
  
She winced and turned around, seeing an evil looking ferret holding a bloody sword. He had been the one to wound her. She aimed an arrow at him, but by the time she had nocked the bow to the string, the ferret had disappeared. She turned and used the arrow on a rat instead, her arm still throbbing.  
  
The ottermaid winced, wishing that she had time to bind the wound. She didn't. Though the cut was deep , she could still fire her bow, and she ignored the blood running through her matted and dirty fur. Another injury that she received was upon her left leg. An arrow, shot by an awful marksbeast, dug itself into Kyra's flesh, right in the middle of her thigh.  
  
The ottermaid stopped as the arrow hit her, crouching down in pain. After she had taken a few minutes to catch her breath, the ottermaid pulled herself back up and counted to three. One. . . Two. . . Three. . . on the count of three, she yanked the arrow out of her flesh, letting out a scream as it tore through her muscle. As she got to her feet, she found that she had trouble walking. She tried to ignore this and limped on, biting her lip to distract her from the throbbing pain in her leg.  
  
Of course, Kyra did have one thing to cheer her up despite her injuries. The help that MacPhearsome had promised them had arrived at last! In the heat of the battle, these ferocious warriors had charged at the vermin, joining in the fray and adding their own warcries to the loud roar: "FREEEEDOOOOOOM!"  
  
That battlecry was still ringing from the dry throats of many fighting slaves. All of the creatures, those who were slaves and those who were not, fought with tooth and claw and with any weapons that they could find. The sight that had met the eyes of the slaves as the relief army started their charge was astounding.  
  
Around 500 Salamandastron hares were all ducking and weaving, stabbing with sabers or kicking out with powerful hind legs. A great number of otters from Holt Ruddaring whirled their slings and shot arrows in the midst of the fray. Even more otters were fighting with the hares at close combat, twirling their double pointed otter javelins expertly.  
  
The slaves hadn't remained stunned for long. As soon as they had gotten over the sight of the trained fighters that had come to aid them in their cause, they had charged past the archers from Ruddaring and into the army of hares and otters, waving their weapons and screaming with the best of them. Sky ran with them for a while, but soon left.  
  
She wished to fight with the warriors from her old mountain home, Salamandastron. Her jeweled saber clutched in her paw and the blade humming with deadly accuracy through the air, the haremaid screamed the cry of the Mountain Hares and the Badger Lords of the past, her voice intermingling with those of her fellow hares: "EULALIAAAAAAAAAAA!"  
  
Sky hadn't seen any Salamandastron hares for seasons, and though she strained her eyes and tried to catch fleeting glimpses at the fighting hares, she did not recognize any of them.  
  
Kyra paused for a moment, watching Sky for a short time before nocking another arrow to her bowstring. She would soon run out of ammunition. Luckily, a few moments later, she stumbled upon the black fletched arrows of a dead rat. She scooped them up quickly and stuffed them into her quiver before turning back to Sky.  
  
The happiness that she saw on Sky's face cheered her greatly. The haremaid was truly happy for the first time in seasons. This was the way Sky wanted it to be, Kyra thought vaguely. She'd want to be fighting some great foe with her family, her saber in her paw and her will as strong as ever. And this was the way Kyra wanted to imagine her forever, too.  
  
The ottermaid took one last look at the battle, sighed, and ran off towards Castle Fortguard, which lay to the left of the fray. She had to find Mavarl. The slaves would be fine without her now that the Hares and Otters had arrived.  
  
Slowly, the Battle for Fortguard- as it would be called afterwards- was turning in the favor of the slaves. Slowly, ever so slowly, they were killing off the rats. Hares stabbed with their sabers, otters swung with their javelins, and slaves fought with any weaponry that they could find. Though Kyra and Sky had taken a great deal from the armory, it hadn't been nearly enough to arm the majority of the slaves.  
  
And so they fought on, some without any weapons at all, and some with weapons taken from fallen rats or hares and otters. They fought with all the fervor that they could muster, teeth bared and blood rising. The heat was unbearable, even in the darkness that was quickly descending upon the Island of Fortguard.  
  
The castle cast a large shadow over the island, making it appear even darker than it already was. The sun was sinking lower in the horizon, this time tinting the sky a bright red. Blood red. The sky knew that much blood would be shed by morning, and had changed its colors to match it. As the poem went,  
  
'When the bloodred sun  
  
shines high o'erhead  
  
many brave fighers  
  
will soon become dead'  
  
It was a well-known nursery rhyme, and many creatures had passed it down from generation to generation. There was no more to the rhyme. It was simply an ode to war, meaning nothing in particular, though it was often quoted. Looking at it from afar, Sky firmly decided that she had never seen a sunset so brilliant a blood red shade.  
  
Sky grinned as her saber flew through the air, stabbing a rat neatly in the stomach. It had been a long time indeed since she had used a saber! As she disposed of another rat, Sky noticed that a group of them were closing in on her.  
  
Twirling around slowly, so she could see all of the rats that were trapping her, she saw the face of a familiar hare! She raised an eyebrow and cocked her ears, trying to place the face that was in front of her. Quickly, the hare jumped amidst the rats to join Sky, eyeing the circle warily and gripping her saber tightly in one paw.  
  
Though she thought and thought, Sky simply couldn't remember who the hare beside her was. The hare smiled at her, ears waggling in a manner that was very much similar to Sky's own. Sky felt the sense of familiarity growing even stronger, but she still couldn't place the face!  
  
The hare spoke. "I say, is that really you, Sky m'gel? Haven't seen you in a jolly long time, eh wot? I see y'don't remember me. I'm Cap'n Claire! You know, the one who used t'babysit you all the time, doncha know? Wager y'don't need babysittin' now, eh wot!"  
  
Sky smiled, and nodded. Clairethye! She remembered Claire for her dibbun days. The haremaid had just finished her leveret years when Sky had left, and had been eyeing the Long Patrol with eagerness and excitement. Sky wasn't surprised that Claire had joined the Patrol. All young hares said their greatest ambition was to join the Patrol, but many had other callings.  
  
But Claire was a fighter. Sky knew that the Patrol suited her perfectly. "I say, Cap'n Claire, didn't know you joined up with the bally Long Patrol, doncha know! Guessed y'would, though. Gone a long way from babysittin', wot!" The two hares crouched back-to-back, sabers whirling with deadly accuracy at the rats that came towards them. Claire nodded her approval as Sky swung the saber.  
  
"Well, young Skythistle, it's been as easy as pie compared t'babysittin' you, you little terror. Glad you're a terror to these longtail blighters instead o' me now, wot wot! I remember the last time that I laid eyes on you, Miss. I'd yelled at you because you'd gone filtching a pastie from ol' Mooneye the cook- he's still around, y'know- an' he'd blamed me and refused me my supper because I hadn't been watching you. You ruined the entire meal that night, y'little glutton."  
  
Sky laughed and they broke out of the circle of rats together, sabers whistling through the air and grins upon both of their faces. The haremaid shook her head, patting her thin stomach and sucking it in to make herself look even more haggard and worn than she already was.  
  
"I daresay, Claire," the haremaid said in wry amusement as she decapitated a rat with her right paw holding the saber. "I'll bet it was that meal that's lasted me these eight seasons, wot. Bally long time since I've had proper food. I ran away shortly after the pastie incident, wot. Had a bloomin' stomachache for a week after, doncha know. I say, Claire, you're a Cap'n now. Joined up with the Long Patrol, an' got yourself promoted. Feel's odd, my old nurse killing vermin with me."  
  
She drew her saber neatly over another rat's through as Claire let out a flying double kick to a rat's stomach, leaving him bleeding and winded. Sky didn't say it, but she was impressed despite herself.  
  
Claire sniffed indignantly as she ran her saber neatly through a nearby rat. "Old nurse yourself, Skythistle Morningdew Meadowsong! Don't you go insultin' Cap'n Claire, wot! I could put you on scullery duty with one wave of my bloody paw when I take you back to the ol' mountain, wot! And I can also go spreading around stories about what you got up to in your younger days, Miss. I daresay they'd make the fur on anybeasts neck stand up. I say, ol' chappess, did I tell you about the time when yo-"  
  
It was then that something unexpected happened. Well, it was unexpected for the slaves. The sun had finally set in the sky, leaving the battlefield dark, making visibility rather bad. Otherwise, the new party entering the war might not have snuck up on the raging chaos in the middle of the island. Amidst the cries of 'Freedom' and 'Eulalia' and 'Ruddaring', there was a different sound.  
  
"Guosiiiiiiiim!"  
  
Sky raised an eyebrow and turned around to look at Cap'n Claire. "Guosim? What's a bally Guosim? Is it bad? I jolly well hope not, eh wot! I'm getting used to the idea of winnin' this war an' getting back to the bally mountain at last, doncha know!"  
  
Claire laughed, her eyes shining. "Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head off about the Guosim! They're shrews, doncha know! A trifle bad tempered I'll admit, and a bit unorthodox, but they are perilous to the end, wot! Ol' Lord Seastripe sent a message to Log-A-Log Raivine and asked 'er if she'd like t'come up and help us free all of you blighters, doncha know"  
  
Sky grinned and nodded, they would need all the help that they could get! Objecting to an unexpected ally would be idiotic, almost imbecilic. Vaguely, Sky wondered if Kyra knew about the arrival Guosim. At the thought of Kyra, Sky began to worry, but her thoughts didn't focus on Kyra for too long. The ottermaid could take care of herself. She'd be fine.  
  
Meanwhile, the Guosim warcry grew louder as around a hundred shrews charged up the island and towards the great battle outside the castle. A rough looking female was in front of them, holding a Guosim rapier and wearing a brightly colored headband about her forehead.  
  
Behind her, all of the Guosim shrews waved their own rapiers and wore similar brightly decorated headbands. They had spiky fur, and were rather small. They were only about half the size of the well-built and rather tall Skythistle. But their size did not affect their fighting skills or bravery, as Sky soon found out.  
  
As the Guosim neared the battle, the vermin all turned their heads to watch the onslaught of miniature warriors charging towards them. A few laughed, but for the most part, they were as silent and as shocked as the slaves. The hares and otters kept moving, however, slaying vermin as they stared at the shrews. Sky almost burst out laughing.  
  
The rough looking female in the front shouted, "Guosim! The wheel!" at this outcry, all the shrews drew together until they had formed a complete ring. This wildly turning ring charged into Mavarl's horde, waving their sabers as they turned counter clockwise. Sky stared with wide eyes as the Guosim Wheel shredded a number of rats to bits.  
  
"It's an old Guosim attack," Claire explained to the bewildered Sky. "Did you know that Raivine's ancestor used that very same attack at Salamandastron when Feragho the Assian attacked Salamandastron during Lord Urthstripe's rule? Bit of history there, eh wot! Really amazin' creatures, shrews. They've got awfully bad tempers though, wot! Stay clear of 'em during a feast, or any other party. The bloody little fiends love to argue, and will shout fit to make your ears go deaf before their time. They talk as much as other creatures say we hares do. Both of us have jolly bad reputations, doncha know."  
  
Then, Sky and Claire dove back into the horde of vermin.  
  
Meanwhile, near the entrance to Castle Fortguard, Kyra wasn't watching the battle at all. The arrival of the shrews had gone unnoticed, even though it was a major factor in the battle. She would find out about them later. The army was pushing Mavarl's forces back well with the newly added reinforcements. Kyra didn't care.  
  
The ottermaid didn't et her eyes stray to the nearby battle. She had a mission to perform before this day was done! Mavarl must die. She notched a green-feathered arrow to her bow and looked up the stairs that led from the Entrance Hall to the second floor of Fortguard.  
  
She knew that Lord Mavarl would be somewhere in the great castle, possibly directing a score or so of vermin archers on the rooftops. He wouldn't risk going down into the battle below. Too many wanted to kill him. The slaves would attack him in masses, wanting revenge. Now, she just had to find him.  
  
The ottermaid slunk up the stairs and crept along the first passageway of the second floor, her arrow drawn to the point and her every sense alert for a sign of the enemy. She knew that it was rather stupid of her to go after Mavarl alone, but she couldn't take Sky with her. Sky needed to be down with the army to help organize the slaves, and she had taken a vow to kill Mavarl herself.  
  
Mavarl had stolen her childhood and her family from her, and had turned her into a coldhearted slave bent on his destruction. By his own cruelty, Lord Mavarl had created a monster, and the monster was determined to kill her creator even if it resulted in her own death. Kyra had the scars on her back, too. They would serve as a constant reminder to her, telling her what this evil rat had done to her for the rest of her days.  
  
Soon, the ottermaid reached the second stairway and after watching for a moment to make sure none of Mavarl's rats were nearby she padded up the steps on silent feet. The only sound that Kyra could hear as she ascended the high stairway was her own ragged breathing and the sound of her heart hammering within her breast.  
  
These sounds wormed their way into her ears, making her head throb. Her brown eyes scanned the next corridor as she reached the top of the stairwell. She licked her dry lips with her tongue and walked on, searching for the rat tyrant, ever searching.  
  
She stayed near the shadows in the corridor, hiding behind statues and anything she could find. She was always alert, always watching for any sign of rats. Her bow was still drawn, and her brown eyes alight with battle. After a few more corridors, Kyra came to the third stairwell. There were only four floors in Castle Fortguard.  
  
After she climbed to the top of these stairs, she would finally be high enough. She just had to find a way out. Kyra took the stairs two at a time, her bow still drawn for the guards. It was a good thing that she had her bow ready when she reached the top of the stairs. Mavarl hadn't thought that anyone would be coming in Castle Fortguard, but, just in case, he had set a trap for them.  
  
He knew that the idiotic slaves would have no interest in taking over Castle Fortguard. The only reason that they would come in was to kill of his remaining rats. So, instead of sending his guards to the lower floors and reducing his numbers, he had kept them with him to crush any enemies that came up to the fourth floor. The empty lower floors would also put them at ease, and give them a false sense of security.  
  
He had the advantage from the top of the castle, and he could also have his archers rain arrows down on the rebellion below.  
  
And so, when Kyra reached the top of the stairs, she immediately saw why the lower floors had been deserted. Rats came pouring at her, waving spears and scimitars above their heads. Vaguely, Kyra wondered how the slaves were even managing to keep themselves alive in the battle below if Mavarl had such numbers at his disposal!  
  
Luckily, all the ones with long-range weapons were on the other side of the castle, shooting at the rebels fighting below. She looked about, watching the onslaught of rats coming towards her in slow motion. It looked as if they were running through water instead of air.  
  
If it were not for her strange power, her red madness, Kyra would have never survived. As she saw the rats running at her, her eyes started to turn red. Kyra pulled back her bow until the string was to the point of breaking, and she let her arrow fly at the nearest rat. The pictures in front of her eyes wavered and disappeared until the only thing she saw was the face of Lord Mavarl.  
  
The rat's maw was open and his greenish fangs glistened. Kyra saw nothing but his face, her vision covered in a red veil. She charged straight into the rats, shooting shaft after shaft after shaft into there midst, plowing her way through them. The ottermaid hardly realized what she was doing. All that she knew was that she had to get to Mavarl. She had to find him and kill him.  
  
The rats all stared in wonder at the ottermaid, not really knowing what to think. What kind of idiotic creature would charge into a whole army with nothing but a longbow? She must be mad! And Kyra truly was mad. Everything she saw was red, her heart hammered in her chest, and she felt as if her every fiber were on fire. Her brain could only concentrate on one thing.  
  
Mavarl!  
  
She watched the rat tyrant giving orders to his guards from a few hundred yards away. All of the vermin turned to stare at her at the same moment, and when they saw the strange ottermaid with her tied up tunic and her longbow with green-feathered arrows, they were all silent. None of them moved.  
  
Mavarl drew his scimitar and stepped back a few paces, while the other vermin made a pathway for Kyra. "Step back," he commanded his rats. "This one is mine."  
  
"My pleasure, Rat!" Kyra spat back.  
  
Everyone was silent. And then, Kyra charged forwards. The ottermaid ran across the battlements while all the other vermin watched in total silence as her feet thumped on the cold stone. Kyra didn't pause as she took a green-feathered arrow out of her bow. This arrow had a golden eagle feather stuck in the center. The ottermaid stepped closer as she nocked the arrow to her bow.  
  
"And now, Kyra Longfletch is at last at peace," she whispered, and fired the arrow into Mavarl's back.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

Kyra Longfletch pushed open the double wooden doors that led out of Castle Fortguard and stared up at dark sky above her. The sun had set long ago, and the normally humid air was getting a bit colder than before. It was just as well. The cooling breeze was refreshing after the hot battle, and all of the surviving warriors were grateful for it.  
  
Kyra didn't really know what to think. Her emotions and feelings were very confused after the battle. Firstly, she was definitely certain now that she was officially and truly mad. Charging into an army while seeing red to slay your enemy should be placed in the "mad" category, Kyra decided mentally. She had never experienced or heard about anything that resembled this before.  
  
Was she just imagining it all? Kyra pinched herself, vaguely hoping that everything that had happened since she had been a slave would disappear. She vaguely hoped that she would wake up in a warm bed, plotting about how to make her father notice her.  
  
How happy she had been without realizing it. How carefree and innocent! But now, Kyra knew about life, and could never live in innocence and ignorance again. Kyra Longfletch had tasted blood on her arrows, and had found the intoxicating substance to her liking. Kyra was a killer, yes, but she wasn't like Mavarl. Kyra's bloodlust could only be aroused when she was angry, and she strove to control it.  
  
She would have to make up for her inner madness, she knew, and being a warrior was the best way to learn self- restraint and control, wasn't it? "Yes," the otter muttered to herself hazily. "I'll want t'learn 'ow t'gain better. . . control. . ." Her voice trailed off as she slumped against the wall of the castle. All seemed to be surrounded in mist, and Kyra's eyes filmed over.  
  
Then, she fell into a deep sleep. The sleep that she had then was the most refreshing of her life. In it, she left many of her aches and pains, many of her painful memories, much of her hatred. But, of course, she was mortal, and unable to lose all of her bad qualities.  
  
A soft breeze blew across her face, ruffling her fur as she slept. And Kyra Longfletch slept for a long time indeed. A blissful and dreamless sleep. The dreams that had haunted her mind in her eight tortured seasons of slavery were gone. The steady beating of her heart was covered by her soft breathing, and the ottermaid never stirred as the remaining shrews, otters, hares, and other creatures were busy rounding up the last of Mavarl's rats.  
  
The battle was won at last. She had indeed done her last day's slave labor. Of course, this thought that wandered through her sleeping mind wasn't quite true, but Kyra didn't know it at the time. All of that would come later, as would the rest of her life.  
  
And, indeed, Kyra Longfletch now had her own life back. When she had killed Mavarl, she had won more than just revenge by his death. She had won a life too, and that life was her own. Kyra Longfletch was at last free.  
  
Of course, Kyra's sleep had to be interrupted sometime, and when it was, it was a cheer that awakened her. Almost every single creature that had participated in the rebellion was nearby, watching her light breathing, murmuring and whispering amongst each other. Was Kyra dead? Had she killed Mavarl? What had happened to her? If she was alive, was she wounded?  
  
This last question was rather stupid. Of COURSE Kyra was wounded. Blood was all over her fur, and had formed scabs over the worst of her injuries. Still, it was asked. Other, more general questions were asked by the hares.  
  
'Who the hell is this bloody damn slave that everyone's goggling at?' was a common one. The questions of the otters were different. Many of them wanted to know if that slave, half dead and covered in grime and blood, was really their Kyrani Longfletch.  
  
As Kyra's eyelids fluttered open, the audience gasped as one, watching her intently lest they miss a thing as she got to her feet. Kyra got to her feet without any trouble. The ottermaid blushed, going crimson to the roots of her fur as she saw the mass of creatures watching her.  
  
What a sight she must look! A ripped tunic that she had tied up, covered in sweat and blood from charging through the rats and fighting Mavarl, and a quiver filled with arrows drenched in rat blood. She grinned at all the creatures staring and held up the golden feathered arrow that she had slain Mavarl with. All of the creatures were silent for a moment before a wordless cheer erupted from their throats.  
  
Lord Mavarl was dead! The rat tyrant that had kept them in slavery for so long was at last dead!  
  
Kyra stood there, her brown eyes still groggy and her muscles positively burning with aches and pains that Kyra had gained in her fighting. Kyra winced, feeling her various wounds throb with torn muscle and bruised skin. The worst injury was the one in her leg. The deep gash had already healed well, and she could move it with more ease.  
  
But the leg muscle that had been pierced by the vermin arrow was still extremely painful. She could put weight on it though, and she knew that it would heal after a while. Most injuries did. Feeling more than a bit awkward and unsure of herself, Kyra grinned uneasily at the crowd, not really knowing how to react. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Kyra wasn't a big public speaker at all, and the sight of many pairs of eyes on her made her nervous.  
  
Sky ran forwards after a few moments of silence and pulled her friend into a tight hug, offering reassurance and consolation. Kyra cheered up greatly as she saw her friend burst from the crowd to wrap her arms about her. Kyra smiled and hugged her best friend back, laughing all the time. Sky pulled away and grabbed Kyra's paw, dragging her forcefully down the steps.  
  
The ottermaid stumbled and winced as she made her way down the steps, trying to ignore the pain in her injured leg. "You've got a lot to answer for, Miss Longfletch," the haremaid said mockingly. "Stealin' all the glory by killin' that fiend! How could you when your best friend worked just as hard in just as much danger an' got not so much as a bally glance! Really, Kyra."  
  
The haremaid was cut off as a taller male hare approached them, grinning. Sky looked at him, longing shining in her eyes as she glanced at his saber, knowing that he was a valiant member of the Long Patrol. Oh how she wanted to be a hare of the Long Patrol like he was! Sky admired and adored all hares of whom legends were told and who had fought in great battles.  
  
This hare was surely one of them, and, of course, Sky was staring goggle eyed at him as she did at every Long Patroller- with the exception of Claire, since that particular hare had been her nursemaid- when she came across one. Of course, Sky had only been reintroduced to the Long Patrol and the hares in it this very day, but she still felt the old longing spring up in her again, like an old wound festering.  
  
"I wouldn't say you're walkin' away with nothin' Miss Meadowsong," the male hare said smartly. Sky didn't speak. Obviously, this hare was an officer, which made him seem even more like a god or goddess to her. Sky had instantly become the admirer of all Long Patrollers, male and female, young and old.  
  
Mainly, because she wanted to be just like them. She envied the positions that the held, especially Claire. A Captain! The nerve of her nursemaid running off to play captain while she was a slave! "I'm Lieutenant Kipaeu of th' Long Patrol at y'service marm. Friend of Cap'n Claire's, doncha know!" Sky almost moaned. That meant he really was an officer.  
  
An officer! A real Long Patrol officer! She would have given anything in her possession- not even considering that slaves had no possessions- to have been in this 'Lieutenant Kipeau's' place. He continued. "We both had our eyes on you in the battle, m'gel and both of us are quite impressed, wot!"  
  
Sky couldn't help breaking out into an idiotic grin. Kyra hit her. Sky woke up, responding quickly to the pain. She was too pleased even to shoot Kyra an annoyed glance. Sky smiled and bowed formally to Lieutenant Kip, regaining some of her senses after the swift cuff that Kyra had unexpectedly given her.  
  
"Really? You were? I'm not that good, really. Been a slave when I should have been trainin', wot! Haven't held weapons since I was a bally leveret, doncha know? I used t'live in the Mountain, y'know. Once, I wa-" Kyra grinned and nodded her agreement, neatly cutting Sky off. She had been rambling badly, and Kyra felt that it was her duty as a best friend to try and keep Sky from making too much of an idiot of herself in front of an officer of the Long Patrol; or anyone for that matter.  
  
"Aye, Lieutenant Kipaeu sir. 'Tis the truth. She mus' be a natural, ain't that right, Sky?" Sky didn't say anything, which was odd enough as it was. Kyra was relieved, for she didn't want to have to pull Sky out of yet a third embarrassing scrape. The ottermaid hadn't ever seen her friend act such a fool! Well, upon reconsidering, she had.  
  
Whenever Sky talked of the Long Patrol, her eyes would light up, and she would usually have some idiotic plan in her head. Obviously the sight of an officer of the Long Patrol- besides Claire, of course; one finds it hard to admire a young nursemaid of ones leveret years as a gallant warrior- had made her rather excited.  
  
Kyra grinned and winked at the Lieutenant, knowing that if she did not keep the flow of the conversation going, Sky would. "So, what 'ave you got in mind for our warrior prodigy, Lieutenant? Somethin' good, I 'ope. Maybe then Sky'll fergive me for killin' me mortal enemy and won't think I stole all the glory."  
  
Kip laughed, putting a paw on Sky's shoulder. "Oh, we've got plans fer this gel alright! We're takin' this young green-behind-the-ears on Patrol as soon as we get back to Salamandastron, doncha know! She'll need to be trained up a bit, but she'll be a Perilous Hare yet! H'Offisah material, perhaps, eh wot. Just needs a spot of training; a bit of brushing up here and there, and she'll be as good as Claire with her saber, eh m'gel?" Sky's smile threatened to split her face in half.  
  
Sky smiled even wider, if that was possible, and her eyes shone like beacons on a foggy night. She was going to join the Long Patrol! At last! "Really? Patrol, y'say? I'd be honored t'serve on th' jolly ol' Long Patrol, Lieutenant Kip sah!" Kyra smiled as she realized that talk of being on the Long Patrol had given Sky back most of her tongue and her wits.  
  
The older hare nodded and winked at Kyra before departing to help with the rats. Kyra winked at Sky in turn. The Long Patrol? That was a very good offer. It would give Sky a good scope for her talents and keep her from getting into too much trouble.  
  
Sky then turned to Kyra and smiled wickedly. "I'm not the only one who's getting good news, Kyra m'gel! I found someone durin' the battle that I think you'll recognize. A very nice chap who wants t'see you. C'mon Kys, I'll show you where 'e is."  
  
Sky walked off through the crowd with her ottermaid friend following her closely. After a few moments of weaving through the busy hares, otters, and shrews, Sky stopped. "I'll just leave you two alone t'get reaquainted. I'm goin' t'find Lieutenant Kip and bother him with questions about th' Long Patrol. See you in a bit, Kys!"  
  
Kyra gasped with surprise as she was picked up off the ground, twirled around in a circle, and then kissed lightly on the forehead. The bewildered ottermaid looked up into a pair of familiar large brown eyes and a slow smile crept across her lips. The leaned forwards and kissed the otter that stood in front of her on the cheek before hugging him as tightly as she could.  
  
The otter grinned, speaking in a rush of emotion. "Kys! It really is you! My liddle sister, goin' off an' killin' warlords with the bow she stole from Granmum! Isn't that somethin'? 'Tis good t'see yore pretty liddle face again, Kyra Longfletch." Kyra giggled and pulled back. After all these years of slavery she had finally found the one creature that she had missed most of all.  
  
"Ronil! You're 'ere! I knew MacPhearsome would bring you! I knew it!"  
  
Ronil hugged his twin tightly before gripping her firmly by the shoulders and holding her at arms length. He made a tsking noise with his tongue and waggled a finger at his long lost little sister, eyeing her clothes with distaste.  
  
"Kyra! What are you wearin'? I can't believe you, sis! Runnin' around in that ol' rag. How immodest o' ye! C'mon, I've got t'show you to someone an' then we're getting you cleaned up! Can't have a sister o' mine runnin' around with muck all over 'er an' wearin' that torn up tunic. Is that wot ye wore all the time? Oh Kys, if only I had known where you were! You couldn't believe how much I've missed you, an' how happy I was when I saw ye!"  
  
Kyra smiled, and nodded. "Washin' all o' this muck off would suit me jus' fine, brother, but did I 'ear you say that you wanted t'show me to someone? I'd like an explanation if y'don't mind! I don't like bein' kept waiting much. Not after waiting eight seasons to see me own twin, that is. You'd best tell me soon, 'fore I pop with excitement!"  
  
Ronil grinned and winked at her, his mood lighter since the two had been reunited. His spirits were soaring, and his overall tone was playful and mischievous. Besides, he had important news for Kyra to hear.  
  
"Well, that's only the beginning! While you was 'ere an' sent MacPhearsome flyin' about playin' messenger boy, Lord Seastripe was tryin' t'figure out how t'get to this 'ere island! So he went and asked ol' Skipper Torran, 'es th' Skipper o' River Otters, t'borrow some boats! I found out some interestin' stuff about our mum from 'im when we met to come 'ere, but I'll let 'im tell you that part."  
  
"So, yore takin' me t'see this Skipper Torran are ye? What's 'e got t'tell me, Ronil?" Ronil shook his head and put a finger to his lips. He wasn't going to ruin the surprise for his little sister. This would be the best news that she had heard in a long time, the news of a new way of life and a position and dream she had always craved.  
  
But, of course, he didn't tell her this. He didn't say a word. All he did was smile. The eyes of the strong, well-built male otter had a glint in them that Kyra couldn't understand. "Oh, c'mon Ronny, jus' gimme a little hint! You know I can't stand not knowin'! Liddle fiend! Please tell me?"  
  
Ronil shook his head. "I promised not t'tell ye! We'll let Skipper Torran do that for me. We aren't that far off. You've waited seasons for freedom, an' you c'n wait jus' a few minutes longer t'find out his news." Kyra sulked for a few moments, but her mood soon picked up.  
  
She was free, Mavarl was dead, Sky was joining the Long Patrol, Ronil was here with her, and soon she was going to find out a secret about her parents! How could she stay sad for long?  
  
Ronil grabbed his sister's paw and dragged her through the busy crowd until they reached a rather quiet spot near the edge of the island. On a rock, the setting sun at his back, sat an old otter. His fur was matted and gray, and silvery scars ran along his old battered body. He wore a black velvet eye patch over his left eye.  
  
The old otter turned around and faced the twins, smiling a rather crooked smile. "Ronil? Is this yer liddle sister, now? Thanks fer bringin' th' lass 'ere. I've got some important things t'tell to 'er." He paused and shot a suspicious glance at the sheepishly grinning Ronil. "Unless you've gone an' opened yer big trap an' told Kyrani everythin'! I rather hoped you c'd keep a secret."  
  
Kyra stepped forwards and offered her paw for the old otter to shake, which he did with a firm grip. This was surprising, considering his age, and she had to keep herself from gasping in surprise. This otter obviously had more to him than his appearance showed. But, then again, you could never judge a creature by the way that they looked.  
  
Smiling reassuringly at the old otter, she spoke to him in a tone that was somewhere between mock annoyance and laughter. "Jus' Kyra, please, Skipper. No one calls me Kyrani. I never did like me name. And Ronny didn't tell me, though I pestered him to. He kept his mouth shut, the great lump. Not to be rude, but can you please tell me what you want to tell me before I explode?"  
  
The old otter laughed, patting the space on the rock next to him. "Sit down, lassie. I've got a rather interesting story t'tell ye, young miss!" Kyra sat, and the old otter began his tale.  
  
"Well now, a long time ago, before you were born in fact, I had a beautiful daughter. My liddle Waterlily was the light of me life. She wasn't a warrior, but she was beautiful, young, kind, and smart. Lily was everything that I could 'ave wanted in a child.  
  
"Now, one day, me daughter met up with this young scoundrel named Ironjaw. I didn't really know who 'e was at the time, but I was a father, an' didn't want me darlin' pearl runnin' around with some strange otter who had appeared out o' nowhere!  
  
"I told 'er t'stay away from 'im, though the young pup was quite the gentlemen. I guess I was jealous an' didn't want my only daughter growin' up too fast. She got quite mad at me then an' decided to take off. I never saw 'er again, actually.  
  
"I was so angry that I didn't realize what I 'ad done until it was too late. She was gone. 'Er mother 'ad died long before, an' so I was stuck. No family, daughter, or heir. Then, much much later, I meet up with that young rip you call a brother an' we got to talkin'. When he mentioned that 'is father was named Ironjaw, I knew who 'e was instantly. It's rather odd jus' meetin' up with a lost grandson that y'didn't even know you 'ad."  
  
Kyra stared at the old Skipper, her brown eyes wide. This was all so confusing, and it was all coming in such a rush. Her heart pounded within her breast, her mind awhirl. All of these things were new to her, but Ronil didn't seem surprised.  
  
She chastised herself internally. Of course Ronil would know, she thought to herself. He was the one who had wanted her to meet this otter, who apparently was. . . "But, that would mean," she croaked apprehensively.  
  
"That I'm yore grandfather too?" finished the Skipper. "Aye, so it does. Yore lovely mother's father. And so at last I found out that me daughter found 'appiness for a short while. I jus' wish I could see her one more time an' apologize to 'er fer what I did." Kyra nodded gravely. She knew that the old otter had nothing to live for, now that his daughter was gone.  
  
She had lost Ronil, and had felt much the same, as if her family had abandoned her to a world of pain that she could not escape.  
  
"But," he continued, "I can't. I'm in a bit of a jam, y'see. I can't just up an' die. I think responsibility is th' only thing keepin' me alive these days. Y'see, I can't exactly jus' leave all the River Otters of Mossflower without a Skipper t'lead them! And my daughter and 'er husband are dead. When I met yore brother, I asked 'im if he would take an old otters burden, but th' young chap can't go rulin' two kingdoms! So that leaves,"  
  
"Me?" Kyra said softly. "Me?" The old Skipper nodded.  
  
"Yes, you Missy! Yore my only heir left besides Ronil there, an' he can't do it. Your half river H'Otter, y'know. And I think we need you in Mossflower more 'n Ronil needs you at 'Olt Ruddaring. That young scamp'll make a fine Skipper one day, an' I don't think that you'd be very happy at Ruddaring after all yore adventures here. You'd think it was boring."  
  
Kyra nodded slowly. "Aye, yore right there, Grandsire. Ronil would do everything to make me 'appy, but I'd get restless. Too many sad memories at 'Olt Ruddaring fer me. I think it'd be nice t'see what Mossflower is like! I've 'eard of it, of course, but I've never seen it meself."  
  
Kyra looked away from Skipper Torran for the first time and noticed that Ronil was gone. The old Skipper saw her gaze and smiled.  
  
"I think Ronil's comin' back now. 'E just 'ad t'get somethin'." Sure enough, a few seconds later Ronil came tramping back to them carrying something golden in his paws. He grinned as he walked up to his twin sister and set Mavarl's emerald crown on her head. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and sat down next to her.  
  
And then, for the first time in seasons, Kyra Longfletch cried.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Book Two: Tears of Blood**

The sun shone down on the thick green foliage of Mossflower wood, reflecting into soft golden light as the bright rays hit the swift blue waters of the River Moss. Birds sang as the sun reached its noontide zenith, and the soft humming of insects could be heard. Though the sounds of Mossflower were soft, the lack of louder noises made them seem magnified a thousand fold.  
  
A sleepy peace covered the wood. The hot, bright sun hit the canopy of the tall trees in Mossflower, creating dancing patterns on the leaf covered ground. Trees spread out a bit in the places where the River Moss wound through the almost solid green wood, creating sunlit clearings. Everything was at peace.  
  
Of course, the peace would not stay in such a fragile state for long. The soft sounds were soon to be broken by much louder, and much less pleasant, ones. The sound that eventually did break the peace was the sound of arguing, snuffling, growling, banging, and overall sloppy tracking through Mossflower.  
  
Two weasels walked through this wood, and both were in equally foul tempers. Of course, their stenches were equally foul as well, but that has naught to do with this tale. Their tempers were high because of the fruitlessness of their search, and the lack of hope thereof. The pair had been searching this strange and alien forest for days without signs of any inhabitants.  
  
Of course, they had seen a few creatures, but most were warriors that, in their opinion, were best to be avoided. The weasels, being cowards at heart, hadn't bothered them. Vermin had a tendency to fight creatures weaker than themselves rather than stronger. Also, most vermin didn't fancy dying in combat with odds that were not heavily in their favor.  
  
One weasel, tall and lanky, covered in red and green dyes and corsair jewelry, looked at his comrade discontentedly. He carried a chipped and battle scarred Scimitar at one hip and held a dagger in his paw. This dagger was put to good use hacking through the thick foliage that the two idiotic weasels had been stumbling through for three days.  
  
The daggers had, in reality, nicked its wielder's paw when a swipe at the foliage was swung without careful precaution. This might have also added to the already bad moods of both weasels. "Oi! Greenfang," the tall weasel called, picking up an acorn from the ground in front of him. When his comrade didn't respond vocally, the weasel threw the acorn with considerable force at the other's head.  
  
He looked up. "You see anyfin, me 'eartie?" the weasel asked Greenfang hopefully  
  
The second weasel, dubbed Greenfang, was shorter and more muscular. This weasel too was covered in green and red dyes, and jewelry as well, similar to that of his comrades. He had a dagger and scimitar that were identical to the ones that his companion was carrying at his own hip. The foliage had thinned a small amount since the start of their trek, but not much. Their progress was still slow.  
  
"No, I ain't seen nothin' thick'ead," the second weasel said in a sarcastic voice. Truth be told, Greenfang the Weasel was not acting that much differently from his normal self. His bad temper never seemed to disappear anyway.  
  
"If I saw anyfin," he continued, "I'd tell yer, an' you'd most likely see it as well. I c'n very well make yer not able t'see anythin' again wid me kisser iff'n ye want, Deathpaw. I'll just tickle yer eyeballs wid me liddle dagger then, shall I?" Greenfang jeered at Deathpaw tauntingly, licking his dagger for added dramatics.  
  
Deathpaw raised his own dagger, glaring at Greenfang. He expectorated on the ground, looking at his ugly reflection in his dagger and polishing it with another glob of mouth-given saliva. Though he was smarter than Greenfang, Deathpaw had a quick and firey temper that often as not vented itself through his constantly wagging tongue.  
  
"Shut yer trap, scumbrain," the weasel snarled, bearing his fangs. "I was jus' askin' iff'n ye'd seen anyfin. We're s'posed t'be searchin' fer signs of life in this bloody forest, an' I'd rather 'ave you 'elpin' me 'stead o' screamin' at me. Even though yore probably too stupid t'find anyfin any'ow."  
  
Greenfang snorted, looking around, his dagger still clutched in his paw. The crafty weasel wasn't going to put it down when Deathpaw was in the kind of mood that he was in now. He wouldn't let the other weasel have a clear shot at his back either, if he could help it. Never trust a weasel, he mused. They'll always find some way to get you.  
  
"Well, there ain't nothin' t'see 'ere. Otherwise, we'd both 'ave sawed it. So, Lets keep goin' through 'ere 'till we find somethin' to report to Fangarl. Don't wanna go back to 'er wivout information, now, do we? Th' 'Ordemistriss'd 'ave our hides fer sure, an' I fancy keepin' mine fer a good long while, so I do!"  
  
Deathpaw rolled his eyes. "First thing you've said that's made sense so far, Greeny. H'I'll have t'amember yew said that when yore bein' 'speshully stooped. Might keep me from killin' yer. An' what d'you mean 'we'd both 'ave sawed it'? That ain't 'ow you speak, matey. T'ain't proper grammar. Didn't yer ever learn 'ow t'speak properly baggy bottom?"  
  
Greenfang shrugged. Who cared, anyway? Speaking was a matter of principle. Vermin had their own grammar codes that goodbeasts couldn't even begin to understand. Only the cleverest of them could mock vermin accents well.  
  
"Who gives a damn wot I said s'long as I said it at all?" The weasel asked testily, his own fangs in a snarl now, to match Deathpaw's. Both stood glowering at each other for a while, daggers held in their paws.  
  
Eventually, Greenfang broke the silence. "Lets get movin', Deathy. Sooner we get movin', sooner we find sommat. Sooner we find sommat, sooner we can get information. Sooner we get information, th' sooner we c'n get away from this place and back to Fangarl. Sooner we get back t'Fangarl, th' longer we keep our 'ides. And the sooner we get some food!" This last statement was added as an afterthought.  
  
"Yore thicker than I thought, Greeny. All those big words an' long sentences t'just say 'lets go'. Stop yer yappin' an' start walkin'!" Greenfang glared, and then bent down to the ground. After a few moments, the weasel stood back up, a stick clutched in his paw.  
  
As Deathpaw looked on, the weasel threw the stick in the air, twirling it skillfully and watching avidly as it fell to the ground. The stick pointed to the Southeast. Deathpaw pointed in the direction that the stick pointed, and Greenfang nodded.  
  
They were obviously lost, and this was a good a way as any to choose a way to go. Greenfang scratched an ear and rubbed his eye, making it water. Deathpaw ignored him, taking the lead, trying to think of a way to walk in a straight line.  
  
He didn't know why this was so important to him, as it didn't particularly matter which way they went, but he did it anyway. It was better than just walking in silence, trying to ignore Greenfang's scratching and rubbing and whining and complaining. The two weasels could hardly stand each other, and the three days that they had been without food or water or rest had not improved their tempers in the slightest.  
  
The two travelers were pushed to the edge, anger flaring up at petty things rather than at important things. If they went on like this much longer, one- or both- of them would die. Greenfang continued rubbing his irritated eye, his efforts and dirty paws only making it worse. The two weasels passed quite a long time like this.  
  
Both were silent, walking forwards, eyes- or in Greenfang's case, eye- peeled for any sign of movement in the thick foliage. There was none, as was to be expected. At this time of day, most beasts would be taking a snooze in the hollow of a tree or eating a quick noontide meal somewhere in the shade. And not many creatures lived this deep in Mossflower Wood anyway.  
  
The task that the two weasels had been assigned, and that they had so badly bungled, seemed almost impossible.  
  
Deathpaw pushed away a thin young sapling, peering through its leaves avidly. Greenfang ignored him. His eye hurt anyway. If Deathpaw saw anything of interest, he'd tell him. And so, while Greenfang wallowed in self-pity, Deathpaw continued to stare. His ears perked, and his eyes wide open. It had grown darker as the pair had walked, the sun setting behind the horizon, turning the sky all sorts of shades.  
  
The horizon was tinted pink, with touches of purple and blue farther away from the glowing orange ball. The sky was a sight of wonder and marvel to behold when their colors mixed as beautifully as they were at that moment. Neither of the weasels noticed.  
  
To the east, the way the two weasels were walking, the sky was a dark bluish black, studded with stars and a crescent moon. Greenfang squinted. The tall weasel had finally stopped rubbing his eye and was clutching his dagger to keep his paw from straying towards his face. His eyes, one rather blurry and sore, stared at the dark sky and its bright stars.  
  
Deathpaw looked behind him, making sure the sun was slightly to his left. "Good. Still goin' Sou' East." Greenfang heard his partner muttering, and raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Sou' East?" asked Greenfang, too busy rubbing at his irritated eye to care about Deathpaw's opinions on anything, let alone their direction of travel. His temper was frayed to its very limit, and was close to exploding. Too close, as it turned out. His next statement proved just how angry he was.  
  
"'Ow d'you know we're still goin' in that direction, mate?" The weasel spoke in a very cruel and hard voice. "An' besides, why d'you care? We're lost. We only know that Fangarl an th' 'Orde are to the North West. Don't see how it matters which direction we go in this mess of plants, Deathy."  
  
Deathpaw snorted, clearly unimpressed by Greenfang's statements and his expressions of anger. They were all too common for him. "Yore more of an idiot 'n even I thought yer t'be, Greeny. Doncher know that th' sun sets in th' western 'orizen at eventide? We're goin' away from it, an' slightly to th' right, so we be 'eadin' Sou' East. At least we know where we are. 'Sides, if we find sommat, we c'n know which direction to 'ead out in. I don't want t'end up on the wrong side o' Mossflower from Fangarl. An' once we get out, we'll just 'ead near that mountain place we saw."  
  
Greenfang fidgeted at the mention of the mountain, his eyes shifting about, and his teeth clenched together. Though he tried to hide the ominous and foreboding feeling that was slowly coursing it's way through his soul, his attempts were hitherto unsuccessful. Deathpaw could tell that Greenfang was nervous, and for once, did not comment.  
  
The stupid weasel was actually worrying about something worth worrying about. Not something that was only worth worrying about. . . something that one should be terrified of. The Long Patrol! Greenfang spoke next.  
  
"Fangarl says they're an 'ole gang o' fightin' 'ares there," he murmured, almost fearfully. "An' a bloody big badger too! She isn't botherin' with them. Says they're a tough lot, an' that they've defeated 'ordes twice the size of ours in two pawflicks!"  
  
"Don' be daft, Greeny," spat Deathpaw. "She's exagerificating, mate." Of course, Deathpaw didn't believe a word he said, but he spoke the words anyway, more to reassure himself than to reassure his stupider companion. What did he care for Greenfang?  
  
"'Course there are 'ares there, but we don't bother wid 'em," Deathpaw continued. "It'll be easier t'find a nice place here to take over and build up our 'orde. Then, we tackle the mountain an' every other settlement we find an' take over the entire Southlands. T'was not pleasant at all up north, an' we ain't got enough boats t'sail west into th' sun"  
  
Greenfang looked at his partner rather fearfully. "I've 'eard stuff about th' westlands too! They say that th' sun never sets there. It stays in the sky alla time. It's always warm, an' they say the oceans are made of Fire there. An' they've got these strange creatures an' plants. The say on Sampetra, Island of Ublaz Madeyes, they 'ad great giant lizards! You never know that the Island Rulers will bring, mate. One was said to 'ave a pet eagle in a cage on his. Say it got out one stormy night and killed all of the vermin! And the island folk is strange too. Strange chants an' rituals they do by the fire-oceans, an'. . ."  
  
Deathpaw clapped a hand over Greenfang's mouth, shushing him deftly. "Be quiet, Greeny. There ain't no oceans of fire, y'dolt. How could y'set water on fire, anyway? Put a bit of oil on it, sure, that'll make a blaze, but t'won't set a h'entire ocean aflame. Stop babblin'. Besides, I 'eard of that 'Orde leader. The H'Eagle didn't go about killing people off. The slaves just rebelled. Some otter or squirrel- can't remember which, really- lead 'em. They say there was a golden eagle involved, but that's just fairy stories. Now, shut yer gob an' keep movin', an' by the Claw stop ramblin' about oceans of flame."  
  
Greenfang, however, was not convinced at all. So deep had the superstitious beliefs of most of his kind been engrained in his brain that he could hardly believe that at least three eagles had not been involved in the rebellion that Deathpaw had mentioned.  
  
"But Deathy," the pathetic weasel protested, "I 'eard the stories!" He paused here for dramatic effect- and failed miserably. "They say that giant lizards live on Islands out in the west, an' 'ow d'you know there ain't oceans of fire there? You ain't never seed the Westlands! 'Ow would you know wot they looked like."  
  
"Because," Deathpaw said, his patience wearing thin at this point, "'Tis impossible, not t'mention stoopid, to say anyplace 'as got an ocean o' fire. I b'lieve that the sun stays up inna sky a lot longer. It sets in the west, don't it? But I don't believe it stays up the entire time, day an' night. Also, the lizards might be a bit big. 'Eard me mum tell me 'bout such things once. Said that their ancestors had lotsa big food, so they grew big like them, 'cause o' what they ate. Say their flesh-eaters. The point is, there ain't any giant flesh-eatin' lizards in this forest. So PLEASE shut up!"  
  
Greenfang still remained unconvinced. "'Ow do you know there aint no lizards 'erebouts? You ain't never been 'ere before. An' 'ow do you know that they growed only a bit big? 'Ow do you know they didn't growed as big as the big fish that live in the Oceans o' Fire? They say there are fish there wot growed bigger 'n ships. That's what they say!"  
  
Deathpaw sent Greenfang sprawling to regain his lost balance with a swift kick to his rear end. In his arguing, Greenfang had forgotten his irritated eye, but he began to rub it again as he regained his footing. Deathpaw was livid with anger.  
  
"Shuddup boulder bottom. I've got a strange feelin' that we're close to findin' somethin'. Follow my lead, an' shut yer mouth fer gods sake! We stop an' camp when night falls an' we don't 'ave th' sun to show us our way. An' there ain't no big fish that grow as big as ships. An' yew never say the word growed. T'ain't proper, mate. Didn't yew ever learn 'ow t'speak properly from yer dam?"  
  
Greenfang ignored him, still glaring. After he finished his sentence, Deathpaw looked over his shoulder. Only a tiny bit of the sun remained over the landscape, and the remaining light was made even dimmer by the trees of Mossflower.  
  
Greenfang raised his paw to rub his eye, but stopped as he realized that his dagger was still clutched in it. He switched his dagger to his other paw, and proceeded to rub his damaged body part vigorously.  
  
Perhaps it was the pain of his pink-tinted eye; perhaps it was the claustrophobia that the silent and foreboding woods brought on. Perhaps it was many things. But, for some reason, Greenfang the Weasel went slightly mad at that moment. He was sick of walking through this forest, he was sick of having an irritated eye for three days, and he was sick of Deathpaw and his sarcastic comments!  
  
The heavily tattooed weasel stepped in front of his shorter comrade, his dagger raised high. He was angry now, and he was going to get out, even if he died trying! Oh no, Greenfang the weasel wasn't going to stay in this bloody forest any longer! He was going to get out, and he was going to get out that very second!  
  
"Oh, I'm plenty sick of trampin' through this bloody 'ell of a wood!" The weasel yelled, startling the insects that had been about to start stirring from their evening roosts. "I don't care what torture th' boss puts us up to, I'm getting out of this damn forest, an' I'm gonna do it now!"  
  
The crazed weasel ran forwards, his dagger in his paw, and started slashing through the forest growth that blocked his path out. Deathpaw was silent for a moment, watching his companion, shocked and motionless. After a few moments, the weasel regained control of his limbs and stumbled after Greenfang. Had the idiot gone mad?  
  
The shorter weasel considered this question, chastising himself internally afterwards. Would anybeast who wasn't slightly mad go gallivanting off Dark Forest knows where? Greenfang's dagger left a clear trail where he had been hacking at the foliage and was easy enough to track.  
  
Greenfang's spurt of madness didn't last for very long, partly because of his weariness, and partly because, without knowing, the two had come near the center of the woods and the going had gotten much worse as he went along.  
  
The sun had almost set in the sky, leaving blood red streaks across the far off horizon where it had been. The trees, of course, blocked this view partially, but so bright a red was this color that it was easily seen through patches in the canopy of the darkening and increasingly foreboding forest.  
  
With one last slice, the weasel stumbled through a group of thick saplings and shrubs, falling flat on his face as he did so. In the soft illumination of the crescent moon, he saw a building in front of him, it's shadow dancing on the ground, stretching out hundreds of feet, many times taller than the actual building.  
  
But, this was no ordinary building! It was huge! And the moonlight showed the towering walls and turrets, as well as the great bell tower to be made of dark red sandstone. Many different carvings covered the roof, and two bells could be seen in the bell tower high above that.  
  
The roof was neat and shingled well, and a slowly swiveling weathervane could be seen sitting atop of it. The weasel stared, his mouth opening in astonishment as his eyes took in the amazing place. The red sandstone house was enormous, he thought mentally. The wall tops stretched for many hundreds of hundreds of yards before turning, forming a square.  
  
The battlements were sturdy and, just visible in the pale moonlight that was beginning to descend over the wondrous scene; two gates could be seen, leading into the strange building. Vaguely, Greenfang wondered what manner of creatures lived in such a wonderful place! What creatures had built this beautiful and sturdy structure? It was as grand as any castle!  
  
Slowly, as the moonlight grew and the sun set, the bells started to toll out a loud, clanging ring, calling all creatures in for the day so that they could begin an evening meal. At least, that was what Greenpaw supposed the bells were calling for.  
  
Food was something that was constantly on his mind, as he had not had a bite of it for himself in three days, nor hardly a drop of water, save for a few gulps from a stream whenever he and Deathpaw had come across one.  
  
Greenfang let out a low whistle in astonishment as Deathpaw arrived on the scene, the plans that he had made tracking to have a jab a Greenfang evaporating. He too whistled. "Well mate," said Deathpaw, eyeing the great structure with intense scrutiny, "I think that we've found what we came here t'find!" 


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter One**

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Though they didn't know it, the two weasels Deathpaw and Greenfang weren't the only visitors to Mossflower that eventide. A well-muscled female otter with dark fur and equally dark eyes walked through the trees.  
  
The moonlight was softly reflected in the dark orbs that sat serenely in the ottermaid's head, shining and spreading soft light over the shadows of her face. The crown of her head was bent down, examining the ground, and her ears were pricked for any sound of movement through the brush that covered Mossflower at all seasons but winter. Most of the foliage died during the winter season, leaving the landscape barren.  
  
Her eyes were a bit large and were tinted a soft brown in color, turned white in some parts by the reflecting moonlight. The ottermaid's slender neck was cast partially in shadow and was extended forwards, almost as if she was a hunting dog after her prey. She was hungry for blood.  
  
Kyra Longfletch's Bloodwrath hadn't left her, but she found that she was able to control it to some extent. But, even she couldn't control her feelings and emotions completely, and the strange red madness still stole upon her like clouds on a moonless night when her bloodlust was high. Her shoulders were slim and fit, with her flesh rippling over a muscular back.  
  
The ottermaid had changed a lot in the seasons she had been away from slavery. She had grown more proportioned on regular meals and regular physical training. The wary signs of bodily abuse hadn't completely left, but Kyra had recovered extremely well. Kyra had filled out, regular meals helping a great deal to help her get a more natural and sleek otter form.  
  
She bent down on one knee, looking at the slightly muddy ground. Something had passed by this way, several somethings in fact. A dozen. They were vermin footprints.  
  
The ottermaid was tall for her sex and species, and she was unnaturally dark for a streamdog. With her at the present time, besides the bollases and sling- as well as it's stones- the ottermaid carried a beautifully decorated quiver over her shoulder, and a bow across her back. The bow was truly a work of art, intricately decorated and made of hardened driftwood.  
  
Kyra muttered, eyes narrowing as she looked at the ground below her, moving steadily forwards, the moonlight illuminating the forest enough for her to track without much difficulty. She emptied her mind, concentrating on following the trail of broken twigs, slashed trees, and paw prints. Obviously, the creatures that had passed this way hadn't thought that they would be followed.  
  
The ottermaid bent down again, picking up a broken twig. Just as she was about to rise, she sensed something behind her. The fur on her back and neck prickled. The Skipper didn't move, but was totally silent, listening. After a few long, tense moments, the ottermaid spoke, though she didn't move a muscle.  
  
"Greetings, Rhyna, Reguba of Squirrels. What business do you have with me?"  
  
From a nearby tree a pleasant sounding voice, along with a bit of rustling, was emitted in a relaxed fashion.  
  
"Oh Kys, why be so formal and mysterious. Great Seasons, you almost scared me that time. How'd you know it was me, and why can't you just say hello like a normal creature? I doubt anyone could be less friendly, really I do y'great bloody riverdog. 'Tis uncanny, you knowing exactly who was behind you. You know what I think, Kyra Longfletch? You're a great big showoff."  
  
Kyra smiled broadly at Rhyna. "I knew it was you because I heard you coming through the trees," she stated simply. It made sense, actually, once you heard her explain her deductions. "Only Squirrels travel that way. And I knew you were the Reguba because you didn't greet me, as any of your warriors would have done."  
  
The squirrelmaid nodded. It was true enough. Any of her warriors would have come up and stated their purpose to the Skipper in a respectful manner, as was proper. She hadn't. She was Kyra's equal- perhaps even partially her counterpart- the leader of a good number in squirrels. Rhyna's squirrel's resided in Dray Beechpaw, a group of trees in which many houses had been built, named after their illustrious leader.  
  
"I suppose," Kyra stated matter-of-factly, that you'll want to come with me on this trackin' journey. Wasn't expecting company." Rhyna jumped down from her tree, twirling a neat double sommersault as she landed with a soft 'thump' on the leafy ground. "And let me point out that I wouldn't be tellin' you who you were without turnin' around if you 'adn't crept up on me in the first place, Rhy."  
  
The Reguba grinned cheekily, shifting the bow that hung across her chest. The Reguba of Squirrels was a warrior, descended from previous Reguba's. The name of Reguba was a sacred one, and carried the mark of a warrior upon it.  
  
"Alright then," Rhyn said. "I do want to join you, Kys. Y'see, I think we're following th' same trail. Truth is," Rhyna confided, "one of my scouts reported a vermin sighting out in this area of Mossflower. I didn't want the whole tribe in an uproar, and so decided to come check it out quietly myself."  
  
Kyra nodded gravely. So the vermin sightings had been true. "Then we're here for the same reason, Rhy." Kyra spoke, her voice solemn and worried. She didn't fear to show her emotions to Rhyna. "One 'o my Otters reported a fewscore vermin up this way, an' I decided to come up and see. Restless, y'know." The squirrel chieftain nodded.  
  
"Aye Kys, well, since we're both here, lets track together. Safety in numbers, I say. And I wouldn't mind having your bow with me, Skip. Bloody handy you are, in a pinch, aye?" Kyra nodded, taking the bow off of her back and drawing a green-feathered arrow across it, pulling it back slightly.  
  
"I've got th' trail right 'ere, Reguba," She said with a smile. "Been following it for a while." This was true. The trail that she was following now had been a project that had taken several hours. She had started just after noontide.  
  
"Looks t'me like a few dozen creatures passed by this way. Severed tree limbs and broken twigs all along this way. Pawprints all along this way, since it rained naught but a few nights ago." The Skipper was about to continue following the trail when she heard Rhyna cough behind her.  
  
"D'you want me to track, or d'you wanna keep at it?"  
  
Kyra shrugged. "You track. My eyes are sore from followin' the bloody trail for hour after hour." Rhyna nodded and headed off, following the trail. Kyra, pulling her arrow back still farther, kept the rearguard.  
  
And so the two chieftains stalked their quarry through Mossflower as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, bringing the hot summer day to a close. Kyra yawned, her brown eyes scanning the trees behind them for any sign of approaching company. There was none, of course.  
  
The ottermaid didn't suspect that they were being followed, and it was unlikely that most vermin would want to tangle with two warriors that were fully armed. The Reguba had her eyes on the ground, following the trail as her friend had done before her.  
  
Suddenly, Rhyna stopped. "Harken, ruddertail," Rhyna hissed. "I think I hear something beyond these trees." Kyra silently nodded. Both friends stepped forwards at the same time, each pulling a small sapling to the side to make a gap, and sticking their heads through.  
  
Both of their eyes rested on the same sight: a clearing with a campfire in the middle, as well as many patches and blankets in the grass where creatures had obviously been sleeping. Kyra spat on the ground and shook her head.  
  
"Right slobs, these vermin are, Reguba, leaving their camp messy. This is probably just a minor foraging party. Any real leader would at least know enough to clear a campsite! Even though I hope I'm dead wrong, it seems as if they're from a bigger horde. Not many small vermin bands would make this much commotion, y'know."  
  
Rhyna nodded. "Aye, Kyra. You've got a point there. A Mossflower Band would be more concealed, since they stay here full time until any Squirrel and Otter warriors get their shafts and blades into them." This was true. Mossflower's main defenses were Kyra's otters and Rhyna's squirrels.  
  
Both leaders sent out parties of warriors regularly for vermin hunts. Ever since both females had come to power, the vermin numbers had been severely dwindling. Not all vermin were bad, however. Quite a few lived at Redwall now, and two were special friends of Kyra's in particular.  
  
Of course, many vermin had chosen to live peaceful lives. With the dangerous north killing them off without much help from goodbeasts, only a few lived there. The southern vermin dared not stay in Mossflower in large numbers, for armies made up of Otters and Squirrels quickly picked those who did off.  
  
The seas were guarded as well, protected by the giant mountain of Salamandastron, ruled by Lord Seastripe, the great Badger Lord and his force of fighting hares. Salamandastron hares were indeed quite comical, but all of the long eared warriors were perilous to the end. Kyra knew this from experience.  
  
Her best friend lived at Salamandastron, and was now a Captain there, with her own regiment of hares in the Long Patrol. Kyra was in constant contact with her dear friend though visits and frequent letters. She was also in contact with a few other hares. Sky's fellow Captain, Clairethye, had become a good friend of the ottermaid's as well.  
  
It seemed as if the only safe place what far to the west, on the many islands where vermin ruled the seas. But, Kyra couldn't go around killing vermin whenever she was in the mood. She was a Skipper, a leader and queen to her otters, and had to think of them as well as the forest she had sworn to protect.  
  
Besides, her twin Ronil could easily take care of the vermin out there. She didn't want to intrude in her brother's territory. She had to let him have his fun. After all, she had her forest, and he had his sea. The River Otter blood in her veins tied her to the mainland, its rivers and trees, while Ronil was tied to the salty blue sea and the beautiful but sometimes deadly islands.  
  
The Skipper was jolted out of her thoughts when about twelve vermin stalked through the trees and entered the camp from the other side of the clearing. Kyra smiled. Now, they were getting somewhere. Looking at abandoned camps was nice enough, but how were they going to gather information without subjects to watch?  
  
Surprisingly, the information was easy enough to come by. Two of the vermin, weasels and spawn of hell both stood in the center of their fellows, talking in loud and excited voices. "Its true, I tell yer," the first one proclaimed in a loud voice to the other vermin, who were looking on in a mixture of excitement and resentment.  
  
They were excited because of the news, and resentful because of the boasting of the first weasel. "We found the perfect place! We was lost see, an' so I perks up me keen ears, and hears voices comin' from miles away an' I says to Deathpaw that we should. . ."  
  
The second weasel interrupted his comrade, his eyes glaring the first into silence. Deathpaw, for that was the weasel's name, was furious at his comrade's idiocy. "Shut up, Greenie. All you did was throw a bloody stick an' follow the way it pointed!"  
  
Deathpaw's tones were in that of a growl, and the feeling that his mood and words gave was one of anger. "T'was me that kept us walkin' on a straight line an' you that found the big redstone building by complete accident. You only found it 'cause you was too stupid to stay in one place an' ran off in all directions slicing everything in sight."  
  
Greenfang sniffed, looking down his tattooed nose at his partner. Though Greenfang was taller, Deathpaw sometimes seemed far more intimidating than he, and the weasel knew it too. He was determined to get some of the glory for himself- since he so rarely did- and wasn't about to give up yet.  
  
"Well, alright, I did throw a stick. But, it was me what found the buildin'. You just admitted it yerself! An' who cares how we found it as long as we found it! Oho, Fangarl'll reward us fer this, mate!" This last statement was meant to lighten Deathpaw's mood. It worked.  
  
Deathpaw nodded, his eyes alight with the thought of plunder and booty. "Aye, so we will! But t'continue with our story." He paused here to glare at Greenfang, who remained perfectly silent. He knew not to annoy Deathpaw when he was in this mood.  
  
"The real story. Well, we found this place, an' watched it fer a day. It's a home full 'o liddle mice! Big Badger wench though, an' a few good warriors. A few slinging otters, some climbin' squirrels, an' some of the mice were carryin' weapons, but not somethin' a good horde couldn't easily conquer!"  
  
Kyra looked at Rhyna, and the squirrelmaid nodded. They had learned enough. These vermin were indeed from a big horde. The weasels Deathpaw and Greenfang had been sent to find. . . something. . . and had found Redwall. They had mentioned someone called Fangarl. Could he or she be their leader or a captain?  
  
Deathpaw looked around and sat down on the ground in front of the empty fire pit. "Well, I say we get started under cover of night. That'll give us an hour or two to Forage. 'Sides, I don' fancy travel at day. I've seen signs of life 'ere, an' we don't know what we c'd run into."  
  
After this statement, the vermin spread out across the camp, gossiping and doing simple chores in longer amounts of time than necessary. Kyra's brown eyes met those of Rhyna's, and both nodded, their thoughts running along parallel lines. These vermin had to be stopped, and more information would be harder to come by.  
  
She smiled, their eyes locking. Both nodded at the same time, each mouthing the same thing: One. . . Two. . . Three! The two friends jumped out at the same time, arrows pulled back and each with a blade and sling at their belt.  
  
Twang! Whoosh! Two arrows pierced the throats of two vermin, and both fell backwards, screaming their last. The other vermin could only stare on in amazement as their comrades fell, mouths agape in a final scream and muscles growing stiffer by the moment.  
  
Kyra felt no pity for the rag-tag group. These vermin were a threat to Redwall! If any one of them got away, then they would surely report back to the leader of their horde. That would, in turn, bring war to the entire region of Mossflower. Redwall was not meant to handle Bloodshed.  
  
That was what she and Rhyna were for. They were the twin forces that protected Mossflower from hordes of vermin and bands of scavengers. Of course, Redwall had it's own warriors, but it was much easier for Kyra and Rhyna to cut down the vermin before the Abbey fell under attack.  
  
Kyra gripped her bow, eyeing one of the vermin that was staring with an open mouth at his dying comrades. Quick as a flash, both friends had a fresh arrow at their bowstrings, pulling back and letting them fly. Two more vermin fell.  
  
It was only then that the stunned vermin seemed to come to their senses and attack the pair! There were now nine vermin still alive, and six of them charged, blades raised above their heads. Kyra smiled, notching another green-feathered arrow to her bow. Another twang as the arrow was let loose, another scream as the ferret she had hit fell to the ground.  
  
Rhyna too let loose a third shaft. Seven left! Or was it six? Rhyna looked at the vermin that were now upon them. Hadn't there been more? She dismissed the thought, taking a thin sword from the cream colored belt about her purple tunic. She ran it through a stoat's stomach as the stoat's scimitar scraped her across the shoulder. The Reguba winced, but she ignored the pain and met blades with a weasel.  
  
Kyra wasn't using her sword. The bow was her preferred weapon. Dispatching a rat with a swift, high kick, she shot him with a green feathered arrow from her quiver. "Four, Bushtail! She called over her shoulder, grinning. "How many you got?"  
  
Kyra and Rhyna both knew that they were competing. Whoever killed the most would never let the other hear the end of it. Both started fighting another vermin, counting the dead corpses. "Four!" called back the squirrelmaid, before her sword ran the weasel that she had been fencing with through.  
  
"Correction, Longfletch. I've got five now!" Kyra grinned and rolled her eyes. She wouldn't let Rhyna win that easily. The ottermaid gritted her teeth and let loose her fifth shaft, pulling it back so far that when she let it loose, it went through a rather fat rat and ran through a stoat behind him. Both were slain instantly. Kyra winked cheekily at Rhyna, that that move had put her ahead.  
  
"Make that six for me, Reguba. I'm on a roll t'night!" Rhyna grinned too, and Kyra was so busy grinning back that she didn't see the weasel creeping up behind her. Rhyna, however, did. The ottermaid was just about to bend down and retrieve her arrows when the squirrelmaid let loose one of her purple feathered shafts at him, killing him just as he raised his saber to strike.  
  
Kyra turned as she heard the screams of the Reguba's victim, and the dead weasel fell on top of her, his saber piercing her right forepaw. She glared at Rhyna and waggled a finger. "Losin' your touch, Bushtail! Should have gotten him sooner. But, you did just as well as I did. Tied again! Six each."  
  
Rhyna nodded. "I could have been faster, but you could have been more alert. Y'should have killed him yerself if you didn't want to be stabbed. 'Tis your own fault you've got a sore paw, y'great baby. Besides, I've already got a shoulder laid open to the bone to worry about," she said with a sniff. She sheathed her sword and grinned. The wounds upon both of them were mere scratches.  
  
Kyra snorted. "That wound isn't laid open to th'bone, y'great idiot. 'Tis naught but a scratch. Now, my wound is grave. Might have to cut off the footpaw to keep from getting' sick, y'great bloody bushtail. Still say ye were careless, an' now I'll have t'lose me footpaw like as not." Rhyna rolled her eyes and bit her lip to keep from laughing.  
  
"Your wound's no worse'n mine, which is to say they'll both be forgotten in a few days. Besides, weren't there more of these blighters here?"  
  
Kyra shrugged. The two friends continued their conversation as they walked off towards Redwall abbey. Meanwhile, Greenfang breathed as lightly as he could, his eyes closed and his heart pounding as he hid behind the thick trunk of an oak tree.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Two**

The two friends began walking through Mossflower together, wandering around as the sun sank lower in the sky. They didn't have to rush back to Redwall, and the weather was good. Both were content to walk beside each other in silence. The vermin had given them a lot to think about.  
  
Who was Fangarl? What did he or she want with Redwall? When would they know the mysterious Fangarl? Were they in danger? As these thoughts ran through Kyra's head, she snorted and chastised herself. If there are vermin involved, of course the creatures of Mossflower were in danger, she told herself.  
  
Fangarl, she reasoned, was obviously some sort of leader. It had certainly sounded like she was the one who had ordered the two weasels- Kyra had forgotten their names- to look for. . . something. And, Redwall had been found. She supposed that they were looking for a place with prosperous resources that would be easily conquerable. They had obviously not known about her otters and Rhyna's squirrels.  
  
Time wore on, and the sun sank even lower in the sky. Kyra Longfletch and Rhyna Reguba arrived at Redwall's gates at what any otherbeast would have considered a very good moment, for tonight the celebration of the Midsummer Solstice was to take place!  
  
Both chieftains had forgotten about the celebration because of the urgent news that they carried. They remembered as they drew nearer, for they heard the shouts of joy and merrymaking from the inside of the Abbey. The sun had completely set, but starlight and the bright moon shone down with soft silvery radiance, covering the wonderful party with a magical glow.  
  
They soon awoke from their midsummer eve trances, and Rhyna raised a paw to knock on the gates. Both creatures look at each other. Their thoughts were simultaneous, and both winced. The news that they bore would not be the kind creatures would want to hear during a time of merrymaking and goodwill and love. Vermin attacks were not things to be mentioned during feasts.  
  
Neither of the two leaders wished to disrupt the feast with rumors of an attack upon the Abbey. The feast was a time for joy, not a time for councils of war. What beast in their right mind would want to hear of vermin threats during a celebration? Rhyna looked at Kyra, who read her mind like an open book. "So," Kyra said, "we'll wait until tomorrow to tell 'em about these vermin, right Reguba?"  
  
The squirrelmaid flicked her bushy tail and nodded vigorously. Rhyna agreed completely with Kyra's unspoken reasoning, feeling it herself. They would have to keep silent about their discovery until the next day. "Aye, Skip," Rhyna agreed, pressing a paw to her lips.  
  
"No need to ruin their feast, is there?" the Reguba continued. "With all the vermin dead, it'll take a few days for Fangarl, whoever he or she is, to find out about us and to plan an attack." Kyra nodded, though she knew Rhyna had only said the words to reassure herself.  
  
Kyra sighed. "We might as well let these others have their fun and join in ourselves for a few minutes before we tell them next morning. A little party won't hurt if we're going to have a vermin attack any time soon, matey."  
  
"Agreed, Kys. If we're going to be in a war- and it certainly seems as if that's a possibility- the Redwallers will want something happy to talk about and to look back on. Where would we be without a little joy in the bad times? Let 'em rest one last night before we worry them about war and bloodshed."  
  
"Now, be a good little squirrelmaiden an' open the gate fer me," Kyra joked. "'Fraid I'm no use at climbin' up walls and openin' 'em from the other side. I'll leave that t'you treewhallopers with those odd bushy tails. At least they have a use, no matter how odd they look."  
  
The otter winked, to show she was only joking, while Rhyna put on a face of mock exasperation. "Look who's talkin', streamdog! You with that big rudder sticking out of your backside callin' my brush odd looking. Otters are far worse. I'll open yon gate, but I expect you t'do the swimming fer this team, Longfletch. Understood?"  
  
With that last comment, the squirrelmaid dashed up the wall, over the gatehouse, and landed on the wall top. Kyra would have gasped in amazement if she hadn't seen the Reguba perform such marvelous feats on many occasions.  
  
The squirrelmaid then ran down the walltop steps and unlocked the gate while Kyra waited. Her ears perked up as she heard the lock click and stepped inside the gates as Rhyna held them open. The squirrelmaid grinned as she passed, winking cheekily and holding a paw to her lips.  
  
"Remember, Longfletch. We're both to keep mum. Understand? No hints, not even to the Abbess. Even Abbesses need time to have fun, eh? Samara'll find out tomorrow, like everyone else. Just between us two. . . and by the way, we could have knocked. The feast is outside in such good weather." Kyra rolled her eyes, pushing her way past Rhyna.  
  
Once the ottermaid had walked through the gate and onto the Redwall Grounds, she moaned and raised her eyes heavenwards. What idiots they both were. They could have simply knocked. . .  
  
Rhyna grinned, and shrugged. "Oh well, at least now we can join the party. Even if it would have been easier to just knock. . ." Kyra glared, and Rhyna closed her mouth. They walked together for a few moments, receiving smiles and waves from the other creatures at the feast and smiling and waving in return.  
  
Soon, Rhyna spoke again. "Remember, keep mum, Longfletch." Kyra winked at her friend, lifted a paw in parting, and walked off into the midst of the feast. Kyra did not want to stay with Rhyna during the feast, for if she did the Reguba would be reminding her with small gestures and winks all night, and it would be even more tempting to tell.  
  
Razorfang the Ferret, known as Raze to everyone in the Abbey, was sitting at the feast table with another ferret, Kilt Fourclaw, at his side, though there was a seat between them. Both of the ferrets had lived at Redwall for some time now, and were trusted by all and respected as members of the Abbet. Both were hard working and good creatures, their hearts as good as those of any goodbeasts.  
  
Both had rather interesting pasts, but both had pledged their lives to Redwall, and both were special friends of a certain Kyra Longfletch. Kilt was a rather nice fellow, friendly and a wonderful warrior with his twin blades. Raze was quiet and withdrawn, and he had befriended a white swan named Kraken, who he had nursed back to health after he had found him with a broken wing.  
  
Kilt's temperament at the moment, however, was rather peeved. Raze had refused to let him take the seat that separated them, and Kilt thought he knew why. He didn't dare ask though, because he knew Raze would simply rebuke him.  
  
Eventually, after a long and awkward stretch of silence, the ferret could not keep quiet any longer. He was rather like Rhyna in that respect. "Raze," he complained, looking at the empty seat, "Why won't y'let me sit down there, matey? What are you afraid of? Aren't we good friends? Don't you trust me?"  
  
Raze grinned and patted the seat, shaking his head. Just to make sure Kilt didn't move from his current seat, the ferret stretched out one of his legs, resting it on the seat so that he could not sit down. "This seat is saved fer Kys, Kilt, an' yew know it," the ferret said, a smile curving his usually unmoved lips.  
  
Raze rarely smiled, but this was a feast, and a rather funny situation. "That otter is the only one who I trust to sit next ter me widout stealin' me food! Yore a seat away, so we can still talk, but I can have a conversation wid me plate too. . . without interruptions."  
  
"What about yer other side?" Kilt asked, for the other chair next to Raze was empty too. Both ferrets stared at each other, trying desperately not to laugh. Raze took a big bite of a cream trifle, licking his lips afterwards before tucking into a mushroom pastie that sat on the other side of his plate. After he had taken a few savory mouthfuls, he paused to answer Kilt.  
  
"Well, if someone sits there, I know that they won't be worse 'n you at stealin' otherbeasts food, Kilt."  
  
Kilt snorted and started eating the contents of his own plate quickly and neatly. He popped a candied chestnut- of which he was rather fond- into his mouth and sucked on it, letting the sugar wind it's way to the back of his throat. Then, he took a long gulp of Strawberry cordial, smiling afterwards and sighing contentedly. Kilt quite a sweet tooth, after all.  
  
A few seconds later, just as Raze had predicted, Kyra ran forwards and slammed herself into the seat next to him, grabbing a plate and any food she could get her paws on. She was very hungry. There was plenty of food for all, for this was the Summer Solstice Feast, and the kitchens had outdone themselves.  
  
She took a gulp of some Elderberry wine. Kyra detested all forms of ale and beer, though she had a particular fondness for wine. "What?" she said, seeing a sulky expression on Kilts face. "Raze won't let you sit next to 'im so you can't steal his food? Don't worry mate, you c'n have some of mine."  
  
Kilt grinned, and nodded. "Ye read my mind, riverdog." Kyra shrugged, and handed Kilt a Mushroom Pastie.  
  
"You know," the ferret said, one of his ears twitching to dislodge a clump of cream that had somehow gotten in his fur, "I think that Raze'd die before he let me have a crack at his tuck. That ferret's as greedy as a fambly of Hedgehogs what ain't eaten in ten seasons. That's what feasts are for, y'know, to keep us all from growin' spikes 'cause of bein' hungry. Rather uncomfortable t'sleep on, donchew think?"  
  
Kyra laughed, eyes sparkling. This feast was a good one, and Kilt and Raze, two of her best friends at the Abbey, were always excellent company. The three were an almost inseparable pair, though Sky was still Kyra's best friend.  
  
"Its not just riverdog, ferret," Kyra said resentfully. "I'm half wavedog too, an' don't you forget it Fourclaw! Besides, y'shouldn't call Raze greedy. You're the one who's complainin' about not bein' able to steal otherbeasts food. There's plenty, anyway." At this, all three friends laughed uproariously before continuing to eat the contents of their plates.  
  
It was then that Kyra grinned even wider. She spotted something that almost sent her into gales of laughter, and she had to use all of her willpower to prevent herself from falling onto the floor and rolling about, clutching her stomach.  
  
"Oh, Raze. . ." she said, tapping the ferret on the shoulder and pointing towards a figure that was coming rapidly towards him. "Looks like one of our friends wants t'sit next to you. Oh, its Cap'n Glutto- er, I mean, Cap'n Sky! Oh, and look! The only other open seat is next to you, matey. Shows you that even Kilt has competition in the food department."  
  
Raze groaned and passed his plate to Kyra. "You might as well let Kilt 'ave it, Kys. Or eat it yerself, anyways. If either o' you don't steal it, that stomach on legs Meadowsong will! After all that trouble o' getting Kilt to sit a seat away from me."  
  
The ferret looked imploringly at Kyra, sighing dramatically. "Are you the only creature who isn't out to steal a beasts tuck, Kys?" Kyra laughed and pushed the plate back, shaking her head. Raze would get as much food as anybeast if she had anything to say about it. This was a feast, and there was enough to feed the abbey three times over.  
  
"Don' worry. There will be plenty for all 'ere, matey. Sky'll steal some, but she'll be piling her own plate as well. And you c'n always take more if she finishes off yore food, Raze." It was then that Skythistle Morningdew Meadowsong approached, sitting herself next to Raze on the opposite side of him than Kyra. Raze looked at Kyra, and Kyra stepped on his foot rather forcibly to keep him from acting rashly.  
  
Both ferrets grew rather protective around their food, and Sky was as drawn to food as any hare. For some reason, however, hares always managed to stay fit no matter how much food they piled down their bottomless stomachs.  
  
"Well, bally greetin's an' solicitations, Raze m'laddo, eh wot?" Sky's greeting was returned with a nasty glance from Raze. He opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly stopped by Kyra's paw pressing on his own yet again.  
  
Sky continued, not noticing. "And you too, Kilt Fourclaw! Nice t'see you all up an' alive, doncha know! An' is that Kyra Longfletch I see?" Kyra stood up slightly and gave her best friend in the entire world a tight and long embrace. The two hadn't seen each other for a good long while, and it felt very good to be reunited after almost half a season.  
  
"No t'ain't, Sky! It's Rhyna Reguba dressed up in an otter costume an' wearin' Kyra's weapons an' arrows. Nice t'see ye, Meadowsong! How's th' patrolling' been goin', m'dear haremaid?" Sky waved a treacle tart and took a large bite, not caring that she had taken it from Raze's plate. Raze said not a word, but only glowered.  
  
Kyra smiled and slipped him a clandestinely stolen tart from the center of the table to keep his mouth shut. Raze smiled gratefully and stuffed it into his mouth, letting crumbs fall down his chin. He couldn't let Sky take it right from his paws. She had done so on numerous occasions before.  
  
"Oh, t'has been splendid," Sky answered, her eyes sparkling as they did whenever she talked about Patrolling. Sky's warrior nature had fitted in with the way things were run at the mountain of Salamandastron perfectly, and Sky felt quite at home in the volcano.  
  
"I've gotten t'lead a few patrols now, eh eh! Regimental scout 'n foot fighter, doncha know! But all this bally work has been makin' this young Cap'n hungry, eh wot!" With that, she shoved the rest of Raze's treacle tart into her mouth and chewed, savoring the taste.  
  
After this, Raze seemed to forgive his haremaid friend for stealing one of his tarts and the four friends spent much time chatting amiably and eating whenever they could step out from the conversation. Kyra was careful not to mention the vermin sightings to anyone, not even three of her dearest friends. Caught up in the feast Sky, Raze, and Kilt didn't seem to notice.  
  
Kyra sighed and took a sip of her Hotroot soup, cooling the taste with a bite of the Turnip 'n Tater 'n Beetroot Pie made by the moles. She then picked up a flagon and took a long sip of damson wine. Damson wine was a particular favorite of Kyra's, as was elderberry, though she didn't at all like beers or ales.  
  
She hadn't been exposed to wine until she had left slavery, wine had been one of the delights she found when she had come to Mossflower. After many seconds, she put it down and licked her lips, winking at Sky. "Aye, this Damson Wine is th' best that's been fermented in a long while, so 'tis! Luvverly stuff this vintage!"  
  
The Ottermaid passed her friend the flagon, taking another sip of her soup and some more bites of her pie while the haremaid sampled it. She nodded approvingly, quickly draining the flagon after a brief taste and throwing it onto the table.  
  
"You're right there, Kyra! 'Tis wunnerful, wot! Not sure of the year, though. . ." Kyra knew that the year was the Summer of the Blazing Sun, but she didn't mention it. The ottermaid had become somewhat of an authority on Elderberry and Damson wine. "Wish I could bring some of this Redwall tuck to th' ol' fire mountain," Sky continued. "But, that is not to be."  
  
Kyra grinned and winked, remembering a previous visit to Salamandastron fondly. "Aw, Sky! Mooneye th' cook isn't that bad! She managed not t'burn th' Shrimp Salad last time! Dunno how she managed to burn the first one I saw her make, though. Salads aren't apt to burn. Wonder why she put it in the oven in the first place."  
  
At this, the ottermaid fell into gales of laughter. Sky glared, and Raze took the opportunity to steal back a mushroom pasty that Sky had taken from him and set on her own plate. Sky didn't notice, and neither did Kyra.  
  
"I recall that the reason she burned the first one was because you were in the kitchens," Sky said, a gleam in her eye. "She didn't put the bally thing in the oven, y'great streamdog, doncha know! T'was all your fault, wot. If I recall th'bally memory correctly, a certain jolly ottermaid was trying to steal pawfuls of it before she had finished mixing it t'gether."  
  
Kyra stopped laughing. "Then," Sky said, a malicious smile curving her lips, "that ottermaid happened to upset the bowl and sent it falling into the fire when she smacked your fat an' grubby paw with the ladle, Waterwhalloper!"  
  
Kyra rubbed her paw in remembrance. "I'd think you'd have bandaged paws by now, with all the snitching of food you must do at your beloved mountain! An' besides, that hare should be on Patrol with the aim, eye, and arm she's got! She's strong of paw, as I c'n very well tell you!"  
  
With that, all four of the friends burst into unstoppable gales of laughter. Sky, who recovered first, gulped the rest of Kyra's Hotroot Soup and Kilt's piece of Deeper 'n Ever Pie down in a flash before either could notice.  
  
Kilt, however, did notice that some of his food was missing when he put his fork on his plate, trying to spear a piece of nonexistent pie. "Kyra!" He complained, showing her his empty plate, "what did you take me pie for, matey?"  
  
Kyra shrugged, and opened her mouth to explain, but Sky beat her to it. The haremaid was not going to be blamed for the crime, even if she had committed it. Kilt had already given her the perfect scapegoat- Kyra. Smiling, Sky wove together a fabric of lies that would save her skin. If Kilt found out, she would be in big trouble indeed.  
  
"Kyra! How could you?" Sky's face was the picture of innocence and offended dignity. Kyra opened her mouth to speak again, but Sky covered it with a paw, an ashen tint coming to her face. Raze ate while Sky talked, knowing that the haremaid's mouth would soon be occupied with food again, most likely his.  
  
"Stealin' a friends tuck like that? Shame on you, otter! Shame, I say, wot," Sky continued. "Here, Kilt," she said, extending her plate, "take my slice of pie, since that gluttonous ottermaid ate the whole thing! The tasty pie's prolly in her bottomless stomach by now! Can't believe that ottermaid stole your pie!"  
  
Raze stopped eating and had been spending most of his energy stifling giggles, unable to eat for laughing. Sky was just about to return to eating when his giggles intensified. Kyra stared at him, a concerned expression on her face. He snickered, his eyes bugging out and the finger of his paw that wasn't covering his mouth pointing at Sky. He had, of course, seen her take the pie from Kilt's plate.  
  
"I. . ." he tried to say, through stutters, "I. . . Er. Hahahaha, I didn't know yo- yo- you Hohohohehe! I didn't know yo-, I di- I didn't know you was an H'Ottermaid, Sk- Sk- Sky! Oh, great seasons! Hehehehahahohohohoho!"  
  
With this, Kyra and Kilt started laughing too. Kilt started gasping, trying to speak. He didn't manage this feat for several minutes, his teeth gritted to try and prevent laughter. Unfortunately, this method of stifling his giggles didn't work very well. He gasped for breath, hardly able to breathe at all.  
  
"Knew there was something funny when Sky offered me food from her plate," he said with a grin. It took several more moments for him to continue, but continue he did, somehow. "Thought I was hallucinating," he finished, falling onto the ground next to his chair and clutching his stomach.  
  
Sky waggled her ears and twitched her nose, looking down her nose at her three friends. But, even she was too amused to stay angry for long. Sky was an admirer of a good witty comeback, and this one was no exception.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Three**

The weasel ran through the trees of Mossflower wood, not really knowing in which direction he was going. If only Deathpaw were alive! He would have known how to find the horde! Just as soon as he thought this, Greenfang resented the thought. He didn't need Deathpaw to find Fangarl and her horde. He didn't need anybeast. He was Greenfang the Bold now, his irritated eye completely forgotten.  
  
He was all on his own, with no idiotic Deathpaw to tell him what to do. Deathpaw was always bossing him around and bullying him, insulting him and kicking him about. But not anymore! Greenfang snickered. Well, who's the best weasel now? That squirrel had hit Deathpaw while he was about to kill the otter, but only the best survived in Mossflower.  
  
He was one of the best now, and he would have to think up an impressive story to tell Fangarl. There were no live witnesses to what had happened, he reasoned, and he could make himself out to be a hero. Earlier, when he had tried this, Deathpaw had stopped him and told the truth. Well, there was no Deathpaw now!  
  
There was no Deathpaw to tell him what to do, no Deathpaw to spit at him when he made a mistake in his comments, no Deathpaw to show off in front of everybeast and make him look like a fool, no Deathpaw to bother him constantly and insult him. Well, Greenfang didn't need Deathpaw. All that his supposed friend had done was hurt him, and he was going to be fine- no, not just fine, better than before- on his own.  
  
Deathpaw was dead, and it was Greenfang's time to shine. Deathpaw's shadow had been removed. Besides, the weasel expected to be promoted to a Captain upon his return. Deathpaw had been eyeing the position with some interest for a while now, and the officers had seemed to consider him worthy. He would have probably been initiated upon his return if Rhyna hadn't interrupted his life, but now Greenfang saw new possibilities for the rank of Captain.  
  
After he told Fangarl his version of discovering the great red sandstone building, he would be sure to gain a promotion! Once they realized that he showed promise, he would work his way up in the ranks. The weasel's imagination ran onwards as he pictured himself in a flowing captains cloak, ordering otherbeasts around.  
  
The fantasy appealed to him greatly and not a single picture of Deathpaw in the cloak invaded his imaginings. Greenfang smiled cruelly, running through possible heroic stories in his mind that would make him a suitable candidate for promotion. What if he told Fangarl that the creatures of Redwall had attacked him, and he had fended them off?  
  
No, that wouldn't work. Then, Fangarl would think that great warriors lived at the red sandstone Abbey, which would change her battle plans. It would be too confusing.  
  
What if he told Fangarl that the other vermin were plotting a mutiny? That might work. A mutiny lead by Deathpaw. What if he suggested that the slimy weasel had been plotting against Fangarl the entire time? Then, he could take credit for his death and for the death of the other mutineers.  
  
He could say that, in defense of her honor and good- er, bad- name, he had killed them all in a matter of seconds so that she could rest in peace without fear of an assassination attempt. No, Fangarl would see through that. He needed a really clever plan.  
  
What if he told Fangarl that they had been attacked by a score of archer squirrels, and that they had slain his comrades. Yes, that would work. He could make himself out to be a hero, saying that he had slain them single- pawed in her name, and had captured their leader for her to question. Unfortunately, the leader had killed himself at the mere mention of her name.  
  
He would do it, and he would soon feel that captain's cloak wrapping itself around his shoulders! He could picture it now. He, Greenfang, would be calling the shots. Glaring imperiously down his nose at them, Greenfang the weasel would work his way up in Fangarl's favor. One day, she would be killed- if not by him, than by some otherbeast- and he would take over! He would lead the horde!  
  
And then, he thought of Deathpaw. The stupid weasel! He hadn't been nearly as clever as he had made himself out to be. The idiot had gotten himself killed by that squirrel, and it was his own fault too! Now, Greenfang was still alive, and Greenfang was the best.  
  
The great fool had gotten what he had deserved. If only Deathy had lived to see him now! Soon, he would be a captain in Fangarl's horde, and then, he would take over. He would not think of Deathpaw again, except in moments of fierce pride. That weasel had had the nerve to think he was better than Greenfang the Bold!  
  
"Well, Deathy," he muttered to himself, "I don't see you showin' off wid yer fancy directions now!" He sneered maliciously, thinking of all the times Deathpaw had bullied him and stolen the glory that was rightfully his. Well, not anymore!  
  
"I was always th' one wid brains anyways," the weasel continued, "an' now I proved it. I was the only one who survived!" The slightly mad weasel looked around, rubbing his hands together, "an' that means that I get yore share of th' booty when Fangarl rewards me fer finding that buildin'."  
  
Hours passed, with the tattooed weasel chatting animatedly to himself, wandering around and hoping to find his horde. The sun had now set, and soft moonlight now covered the trees, and ground, drenching the entire woodlands in silver.  
  
The weasel continued staggering through the trees, the moon guiding him onwards. Nighttime birds sang softly whilst the insects buzzed peacefully, but Greenfang didn't notice them. He kept on trudging through Mossflower. His wearied paws did not tread in vain, however, at least in his mind. Greenfang's time was spent celebrating and crowing over Deathpaw's demise.  
  
Soon, even the satisfaction of being alone did not comfort his paws and his cramped muscles. And so he turned his thoughts to the beautiful captains cloak that awaited him once he reached his destination. This worked for a while, and he spent another good hour debating what color he should choose for his uniform after his promotion.  
  
But even the thought of being a captain did not act as balm for his weary body for too long. He found no more solace in his mind, and his thoughts began to linger towards a nice and warm bed. Whenever he thought to take a rest, however, he became scared. He didn't dare sleep, not when there were warriors about like the ones that had killed Deathpaw and the others that night.  
  
Mossflower was a dangerous place to travel though, especially at night. One had to keep their guard up constantly lest they be slain. Whenever his weary muscles were tempted to stop their wanderings, a nagging voice in the back of Greenfang's mind thought the same thing: "That Otter an' Squirrel might still be around somewheres, waitin' t'kill me!"  
  
And so in this fashion Greenfang wandered about in the moonlit forest. It was not visions of grandeur and riches that drove him on. The thought of promotion and Deathpaw burning in Hellgates did not comfort him. It was raw terror that drove him onwards, and it was raw terror that kept his paws moving, even after he was gasping for breath from weariness.  
  
His eyes started to cloud over, and his heart started to slow down. Greenfang forced his way onwards anyway, trying to stumble a few more steps, but he couldn't manage it. The weasel's paw tripped on an outstretched tree root, and Greenfang stumbled to the ground, his fur connecting with the hard ground. He did not get up. . .  
  
When he again woke, a full day had passed. The sun was still hanging in the sky, but it was about to sink behind the horizon. Greenfang blinked, rubbing his eyes and yawning slightly as he tried to stumble to his feet. He felt marvelously refreshed.  
  
The hours of rest that he had gotten had helped him a great deal, and obviously the warriors that had killed his comrades were not tracking him! Greenfang got to his feet, letting a cool night time breeze run over his still slightly-cramped body. His paws felt able to travel again, and so Greenfang started to make his way onwards yet again.  
  
Unfortunately, even his long rest did not give him back his endurance. Soon again the weasel grew tired, and the visions of his glorious future did not sustain him for long. But, as it were, luck was with the weasel that night. Just as he had finally decided to take another rest no matter the risk, he heard voices.  
  
Though he hadn't noticed, the trees he had been walking through had started to spread out as he reached the edge of Mossflower. The weasel walked forwards slowly and cautiously, hoping that what he heard wasn't his imagination. As he pushed aside a tree with a paw, he saw the sight that he had been hoping to see for two days illuminated in soft moonlight. Fangarl's Horde! He could have danced a jig on the spot!  
  
The weasel strode forwards coolly into the camp, a smug look upon his face and his head held high. Ignoring the stares from the other vermin as he entered, he walked forwards, pushing his way through the camp. Once he told Fangarl what he had found out, she'd reward him well! What did it matter if she was doing something important? He had news for her!  
  
All of the others stared at him, and Greenfang didn't even consider that it might be his grubby and starved appearance that they were looking at. The pictures he held in his mind of himself were too grand for his actual state. Feeling extremely pleased with himself, even though he didn't exactly have very much reason to be, the weasel approached his leader's tent, a grin on his face and his heart leaping.  
  
Soon, he would be wearing a captains cloak instead of an old and dirty tunic. He just had to tell Fangarl what she wanted to hear and make himself look good in the bargain. He stepped forwards, looking the two rat guards that stood in front of the tent flap straight in the eye. "'Ello me buckoes. Got important news fer the chief, mates. C'n I get through?"  
  
One of the guards, a burly rat with dark fur, stepped forwards, a spear in his paw. Greenfang's confidence quavered for a moment, but even the cowardly weasel was boosted by the supposed importance of his mission. Greenfang ignored the rat and tried to push past him, only to be sent sprawling by the spear of the second rat.  
  
"Then it'll 'ave to wait," the second rat said. "She's takin' dinner in 'er tent and doesn't want to be disturbed. She gave us strict orders not to let anybeast get a paw near this tent. She said that if anybeast disturbed 'er, we was to kill 'em." The weasel ignored him and glared.  
  
"Oh, she'll want to be interrupted fer this news, me 'Earties!" The weasel put on a cheery face and a confident air, hoping that it would convince the rats of his goodwill. It didn't. The two rats glared at Greenfang as solemnly as ever, but the weasel was not to be disheartened. "I'd tell yer all about it, but this news is fer Fangarl's ears alone."  
  
Both rats were about to protest, but the weasel lifted a paw to silence them- though it didn't work in the slightest- and pushed past them before they could react. The inside of the tent was dim, lit only by two candles on a table placed in the center. In one corner was a sleeping cot, with a water basin in the other to wash in. Vermin though she was, Fangarl was a very neat and clean creature.  
  
At first, the weasel couldn't see anything but the shadow of the cot, table, and basin. But, as his eyes adjusted to the light of the candles, he made out the shadowy face of Fangarl the Cruel. He tried to suppress a shudder at the sight of her, but failed miserably. Fangarl smiled slightly as he cowered before her.  
  
Greenfang, only just remembering what protocol demanded, gave her a wobbly and poorly executed bow. Fangarl tried to suppress laughter, and she had a better time at concealing her amusement than Greenfang had at concealing his terror. She read him like an open book. Fangarl delicately lifted a piece of fish meat on a slender silver fork to her mouth, eating it neatly.  
  
At any other time, Greenfang would have been staring at the food, transfixed. It was, indeed, cooked to perfection, but he was too terrified to think of his stomach at the moment. The weasel, his lips trembling and his paws unsteady on the ground, stood at attention, his eyes cast downwards in respect as well as terror.  
  
Fangarl was a ferretmaid in her middle years, though she was still fit, and quite deadly. She was known as a fierce and ruthless killer, even if her appearance didn't fit that description. Unlike most of the creatures in her large horde, she wore little jewelry and wore a neat black tunic with a cape of soft mole fur about her shoulders. She wore a slender golden tiara on her head.  
  
At her hips, the ferretmaid carried two poison tipped throwing daggers, as well as her own sword. Her bright black eyes shone through the darkness, and the weasel couldn't help shuddering. His confidence evaporated as fast as it had appeared. Fangarl licked her teeth, grinning at her scout menacingly.  
  
The ferret's body was lithe and wiry, and she was rather pretty as vermin went. Her face was a mature one, not wrinkled and yet obviously not very young. It was a strong face, well featured. Her full lips were often as not curved into a menacing and foreboding smile that would make even the bravest fall to their knees. Fangarl the Cruel was truly a strong hordeleader.  
  
"So," she said, her grin widening, "My rat guards jus' up an' decided t'let you come in 'ere after I gave them orders t'make sure nobeast entered me tent." Greenfang gulped, his throat dry and his paws wringing one another in turn. Fangarl was not in a good mood, then. He had pictured himself striding brilliantly into her presence, a buccaneer smile on his face and a dashing sword in his paw.  
  
He had thought she would welcome him, asking him to sit down as her equal so that they would discuss his good fortune. Fangarl continued while Greenfang brooded. "This is surprisin', ain't it? Now, you'd better open that trap o' yours an' tell me why yore 'ere so I can go outside and. . . deal with them"  
  
The weasel's former confidence evaporated as fast as it had come. His eyes whirled about, resting anywhere but on his leader. Fangarl stared determinedly back at him, her gaze never wavering. All too aware of her gaze upon him, Greenfang shuddered, his eyes widening slightly and his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. Beads of sweat ran down his neck as Fangarl looked on.  
  
She soon grew impatient and Greenfang, sensing this, began to tell his stories in many stutters and faults. "Well, er. . . um, its like this. Y'see, you sent me 'n me mate Deathpaw out a few moons ago inter that wood place, Mossflower, t'go scoutin', an'. . ." He paused, licking dry lips and gulping. Fangarl waved a paw at the seat across from her at the small table.  
  
"C'mere an' sit down, mate," she said with a smile. Greenfang stared at her, not at all sure how to react. Was this another one of his fantasies? Was he still walking about in Mossflower somewhere, or was he perhaps asleep, dreaming. He pinched himself, and felt the pain in course through his flesh. He wasn't dreaming. "There's food too, if you want it. Since ye've already interrupted me, you might as well enjoy yourself while you tell me what I hope will be good news."  
  
The weasel felt slightly more at ease, sitting down as his leader instructed him and taking tiny bites of the food on the table. As he grew more confident, Greenfang continued with his story.  
  
"Well, like I was sayin, me 'n Deathy was walkin' through Mossflower. An' so Deathy turns t'me an' says, 'I think we're lost, Greeny.' An' so I say to 'im, 'No we ain't! We're goin' th' right way. I c'n tell from th' sun. An' I 'eard tell of a place full of mice 'n squirrels an' 'edgepigs where we c'd take over'. An' so Deathy follers me, 'cause I'm th'leader, right? An' so we keep walkin' for a while, an' what do we see?"  
  
"Well?" Fangarl asked, using all her willpower to keep a smile on her face. Even with all her efforts, it still looked like a grimace. "What did you see? You've done well so far, but I'd appreciate if you'd explain what this has to do with interruptin' m'dinner."  
  
The weasel nodded and continued his tale, not at all conscious of Fangarl's annoyance. Though she tried hard to hide it, the ferretmaid was livid. She needn't have worried about the weasel suspecting her anger, Greenfang was far too stupid to notice. The weasel drank something from a nearby flagon, smiling contentedly before continuing.  
  
"Well, so we see this great red buildin'!" Fangarl raised her eyebrows, but gave no other reaction. "It must 'ave been twice as big as any o' th' castles we ever took over," Greenfang said with excitement. "It was 'igher 'n all of th' trees around it an' th' walls was as thick as- " he searched for a word, "thick as two treetrucks put t'gether! An' so, we watched th' place for a day or so, an' it turns out that they're only full of mice an' a few other woodland creatures. Nothin' serious guardin' th' place."  
  
Fangarl was shocked. A huge building without any proper fighters? She was in luck! The ferret's voice took on an urgent tone as she questioned the weasel further.  
  
"Well? What direction was it in? An' I want more details about the place!" The weasel grew a bit more agitated as his commander started to lose the flattery and kindness she had pretended earlier. But, not knowing what else to do, he gulped and licked dry lips before answering.  
  
"Aye, there ain't any serious fighters, mostly mice in funny green robes. An' all you 'ave t'do is walk, um, Sou'eat of 'ere t'get there. Just walk straight through Mossflower an' you'll find it within two days if you don't get lost. Like I said, t'was just a huge red building with high walls an' funny mice in it. But I did see two warriors earlier. Tattooed otter female an' a squirrelmaid too. Killed Deathy an' th' foragin' party you sent out, they did! Wouldn't want t'run inter more of them, eh?"  
  
Fangarl nodded, her lips curving into a smile. "You're sure of your information, Greenfang?" The weasel nodded, and the ferret's smile broadened. "Good. Now, let us discuss your reward, shall we?" The weasel's eyes lit up with greed, his heart pounding with anticipation as he wondered what riches his queen might bestow upon him.  
  
"Now, you did find this Abbey, and for that I thank you, but your reward will be something far different than you expect." Her voice trailed off as the ferretmaid grasped at one of the poison-tipped daggers at her hip. She drew it slowly under the table, not wanting to attract the unfortunate weasels attention.  
  
"But, you also unwisely chose to interrupt my dinner. If you hadn't, and had acted with more sense, then I would have made your death painless. I don't like sharing rewards!" And with that, the ferret leapt up onto the table, thrusting the poisoned dagger into the weasel's throat. The ferret smiled as the body, now with some of the fur stained red, fell to the floor in a shuddering heap.  
  
She put the dagger away and calmly finished her dinner, letting the excitement of this new discovery fill her with new hope and anticipation. Then, she put the dagger back in her paw as she went out to deal with the guards. They had been foolish enough to let the weasel in during Fangarl's dinner.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Four**

Fangarl pulled her mole fur cloak closer about her shoulders, marching forwards at the head of her army. Of course, under normal circumstances, an army in Mossflower would be noticed, but Fangarl hadn't been so naïve and stupid. She wasn't about to show full force to these pitiful redstone mice yet. She had forced her army to conceal themselves in the brush as they traveled.  
  
Fangarl led the last group heading towards Redwall to the place where she said she would rendezvous with the rest of the horde and camp while she planned their first attack. There would be more than one attack, a first, to get the feel of these woodland creatures and a second to kill.  
  
The ferretmaid was pretty for a vermin, and her middle-aged countenance was only marred slightly by scars. She had always been clever enough to avoid most painful confrontations. Fangarl was a good fighter, but had found that hand to hand combat wasn't always necessary. Stealth tactics were much more convenient.  
  
She chanced a glance behind her, making sure that her horde was keeping up with her. She could hardly see them, though they were visible slightly. You had to look extremely close at the foliage to spot a disguised vermin. Good, the oafs were doing something well for a change!  
  
Fangarl quickened her pace slightly, not particularly caring if anybeast in her horde fell behind. She was determined to get to the redstone house before the creatures that dwelt there found out about her and the sooner her horde arrived at it's destination, the better. Fangarl scanned her surroundings, eyes flicking over the green foliage ahead of her, always on the alert.  
  
The ferret chieftain wondered vaguely how the other groups were faring on their journeys through Mossflower. She had told the horde to spread out, and had appointed different times and places for them to leave at so that there was a less likely chance that they would be discovered. The group that she had taken herself was the one that had left last.  
  
The two other groups had left before her and were well on their way already. She had given one of these to her Captain, Vannin the Ferret, and the other she had given to her other Captain, Erecan the Weasel. Both of these were in line for Second in Command of the horde should she perish. Fangarl had only two Captains, though she had other minor officers to do most of the dirty work for her.  
  
Vannin and Erecan were her number one vermin, her advisors, and her informants of the behavior of the horde. If there was a mutiny, the weasel and ferret didn't take long to find out more. Soon, soon, she could settle her horde down and begin to truly rule until she had the entire woodlands in the palm of her paw!  
  
Of course, she reminded herself, not all of the creatures in Mossflower were peaceful. Otters and Squirrel warriors were abundant. But, she would soon take care of the ruddertails and treewhallopers, and whoever their leaders were. None could withstand the might and ferocity of her horde! None! And if any dared to try, she would squash them as she did so many beetles and ants.  
  
Meanwhile, the ferretmaiden did not realize that she was being watched.  
  
Concealed in the bushes, a hare and an otter watched the progress of the hidden army through wide eyes. Both peered through the foliage, examining every inch of it, counting the vermin and sizing them up without noticing each other. The two creatures had never met in their lives, though their lives would soon be intertwined more deeply than any creature could have guessed was possible.  
  
The otters name was Lucien Streambed. He was a big male otter with smoky grayish fur and a well-built, muscular body. Kyra Longfletch was tall for her species, but this otter was even taller, but not by more than a head. His eyes were not one color, but two, for his left was forest green while his right was ice blue.  
  
The otter was handsome. Very much so, if you ignored the scars that appeared at random places on his body and face. He wore a crimson tunic that had been stained by the green plants of the forest, helping him to stay hidden. He could always wash it later, and staying out of sight was more important now.  
  
The otter's face was large, as was the rest of his body, and his ice blue and sea green eyes peered simultaneously at the vermin that were trying clandestinely to walk through Mossflower. To anyone but a trained warrior, which Lucien was, they would have blended so well into the foliage that they would have passed by unnoticed.  
  
The otter ran a paw through his gray tinted headfur, which stuck up slightly in the back and continued to watch the vermin with anxiety growing in his breast. The otter was uneasy about this traveling mob. No ordinary vermin band would travel thus. Their leaders didn't have the brains to conceal themselves. Besides, it meant that they had a purpose.  
  
What disturbed him even more was the direction in which the vermin were heading. They were walking on a straight course to Redwall Abbey whether they knew it or not. Lucien suspected strongly that they did, and that did not provide any solace for his worries. The Redwallers got on well enough, and he knew that they had allies in the otters and squirrels, who would doubtless protect them against any attack.  
  
Though he was a solitary creature by nature, Lucien Streambed did have one friend. This friend was Swifteye, a squirrel. Lucien had met her long ago, and the two friends had stayed together ever since. However, Swifteye and her friend had parted company a short while ago. She had gone out foraging for food and a shelter for the night.  
  
Upon the warrior otter's back lay his fathers blue fletched arrows, and across his chest and about his waist he wore a brightly colored and beautifully woven fabric that his mother had made for him. In this belt and sash, he wore two circular blades that had also been generous gifts from his well loved but dead parents. These were the only possessions that he had.  
  
Soon, though he did not know of it yet, his destiny would intertwine deeply with the fates of Kyra Longfletch, Skythistle Morningdew, Kilt Fourclaw, Razorfang, Clairethye Windwhistler, and countless other creatures, some that haven't yet entered into this narrative. All too soon, Lucien's peaceful enough and simple world would be disrupted for a second time by hatred, death, loss, blood, and love.  
  
The eyes from just across the way did not see the otter. The creature watched the horde, not noticing anything else. His destiny would also be interwoven into this tale. The strange creature had not forgotten the painful memories that wracked his brain constantly. He would never forget them. He would never forget her.  
  
The hare, for that was the second creature's species, was also male, but older than the otter. This hare, despite his age, was a warrior, and had the look of a creature who had once been of the noblest and most impressive breed of hares. The gallant old hare had dark gray fur covering his body, though it was ridged and matted and rough, the shade dark and morbid appearing.  
  
He was tall, with gray brown eyes and a handsome face, or a face that looked noble, picturesque, and dashingly mature in old age. The hare had indeed been a fine beast at one point, a beast that had made many female hares swoon. The very mature and handsome face of the veteran hare hid many things, things that would make the bravest fall to their knees.  
  
Woodshire Meadowsong was back in Mossflower, back from the high seas. Woodshire hadn't been in his old home, which had been Salamandastron and the surrounding Mossflower country, in seasons upon seasons. He had not returned to Mossflower since his young seasons, when he had been a gallant and foolhardy captain of the Long Patrol.  
  
The hare was back. Back from the time his wife, son, and entire patrol had been slaughtered by vermin. The memory of that day had been one of his worst. After the slaughter that had taken place on that fateful day that had distorted his life, he, the only survivor, had been a galley slave to the vermin that had so carelessly killed the creatures that meant the world to him.  
  
What happened afterwards. . . what happened afterwards was what had changed him for life. Not only loss had distorted him, but his own guilt and decisions had changed him too. What happened afterwards? That was a secret. A secret that he would only let one creature bring into the light, and one he hoped would never be revealed afterwards.  
  
But, the honorable, or so he seemed, Woodshire Meadowsong had not only been blessed with a son by his now long dead wife. He had also had a daughter, and he had named her Skythistle Morningdew. And the whole reason that Woodshire Meadowsong was back in Mossflower was because of this beloved daughter.  
  
The war would be a perfect opportunity for him to get into the Abbey, and close to Sky. If he pretended to warn the Abbeydwellers of danger, then they would let him in. All of his plans would be much simpler. The hare's slightly twisted mind had worked it all out beautifully. All he needed to do now was count the vermin and gather as much information as he could to report to the abbey.  
  
Once he had gotten into the Abbey, his past would unfold before his beloved daughters eyes before she could be allowed to close them. After watching the vermin for a few more moments Woodshire ran from the bush where he had been hiding and dashed off towards Redwall, taking shortcuts wherever he could remember them, determined to reach the Abbey before the vermin.  
  
He was still careful to be quiet though. If he was captured, his plans would all be ruined, and he couldn't let that happen. Not after all the suffering he had endured to find Sky and to tell her the truth. He had to warn them and get inside to Sky. He just had to!  
  
Meanwhile, across the path of Fangarl's army, Lucien Streambed's thoughts were running along very similar lines to those of Woodshire's. His thoughts, however, were a good deal less sinister. He had to get to Redwall as well, if only to warn the good Abbeybeasts. Perhaps he could stay and help them defend the abbey if he was lucky. It would be good to sleep in a warm bed again and to eat some fresh food too.  
  
And so, the otter walked through Mossflower, making his way through slightly more quickly than Woodshire.  
  
Later, Lucien Streambed pounded his fist against the door of Redwall Abbey. The otter had waited, hoping for Swifteye to find him, but she hadn't arrived yet. Lucien wasn't extremely worried about the squirrel. Concerned, yes. Worried, not at all. His confidence in his friend was great. Lucien knew that she could take care of herself.  
  
When no one opened the gate for a few seconds, he knocked again, still louder. Behind him, the foliage rustled. Lucien looked over his shoulder, his paw reaching for a blue fletched arrow from the quiver on his back just in case. A dark, gray furred hare stepped out of the green trees, grinning broadly and waggling his ears in a most comical manner.  
  
He twitched his nose and stepped forwards toward the gate, grinning from ear to ear. "Beastly hot day, isn't it, laddie buck? Very bad weather, doncha know! Redwall has th'best kip fer miles around an' I couldn't help but stop by while I was patrollin' in the area."  
  
Lucien nodded, and smiled. "Aye, hot it is, friend. I too am stoppin' at Redwall, but I've got other business here than pleasure. Some strange things 'ave been goin' on in Mossflower of late, and I've got to make sure that the current H'Abbot or H'Abbess knows of 'em so that Redwall c'n be prepared," the otter paused for a moment to take a breath before continuing in an urgent and informative tone.  
  
"Y'see, friend, I've got to warn the H'Abbeybeasts that a horde of vermin marchin' through these parts. I guess that means I should warn ye too, master hare, seeing as you don't want to run into th'scum durin' yore patrols."  
  
Woodshire nodded as he stood next to the otter. "Well, what a bally odd coincidence, isn't it?" The hare's nose twitched, and his ears stood straight up, pointing towards the high above blue sky, his lithe frame the picture of nonchalant feelings, though he made it clear that he was prepared, every muscle tensed. Lucien took note, as Woodshire wanted him to.  
  
"I saw the scum sneakin' through th' trees very early this morning, doncha know!" The hare continued. "I came here to alert th' jolly ol' Abbess too, eh eh! It is an H'Abbess, y'know, laddie buck. Surprising you don't know Abbess Samara, wot! How strange. Well, I s'pose that theres no harm in both of us warnin' th' dear creatures what they're up against, wot wot!"  
  
Lucien smiled, nodding and opening his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by the opening of the Gatehouse Door. Both creatures turned their heads to watch the great heavy door creak open, and a shadowy figure come into view. A pretty and tall ottermaid with dark fur had been the one who had opened said door, a bow with green fletched arrows in a quiver fitted comfortably on her back.  
  
These she adjusted as she walked out, for they had been moved while she had opened the door. She smiled warmly at the hare and the otter, putting a paw to her lips and signaling them to be quiet in their speech. The two nodded their consent, promising to lower their tones.  
  
"Sorry we didn't answer you before, friends," the ottermaid said sorrowfully. The truth was that not many of the creatures of Redwall had been in a position to hear the knocking. "We've just had a feast last night, and everyone is sleeping it off, even at this late hour!"  
  
The ottermaid grinned rather sheepishly, trying to hide the horrible headache that she had obtained, from too much Damson and Elderberry wine, with a broad and friendly smile. It worked well enough. "Most of us have only just gone to bed. I'm Kyra Longfletch, Skipper o' River H'Otters at your service. And who, may I ask, are you two?"  
  
Woodshire stepped forwards first as Lucien watched, a smile upon his face and his countenance the picture of nobility and friendliness. The hare twirled a paw, making an elegant leg to the ottermaid. "Oh, 'tis a pleasure to be sure, marm," he said in a friendly and respectful tone. "I'm Woodshire Meadowsong, doncha know! Long Patrol Cap'n, or at least, I used t'be. Long story, eh."  
  
"Like Woodshire said," Lucien said, "'tis a pleasure t'meet you, Skipper." Kyra nodded her greeting to the strange male otter as she had done to Woodshire. "I'm Lucien Streambed," he continued, "a warrior of Mossflower, an' we've both come 'ere t'warn you an' th' H'Abbey about th' vermin that are comin' this way. We saw quite a few of them. . ."  
  
With this comment, Kyra cut him off. "Damn! Sooner than Rhyna and I expected," she muttered partially to herself and partially to the two visitors. Grinning slightly, she explained her sudden outburst. Lucien and Woodshire listened intently as the ottermaiden told of her adventures with Rhyna Reguba the previous evening.  
  
"Why don't you two come inside with me while I wake our other leaders," she finished. "I suppose that it's a good thing we had the feast now. All of the important rulers of Mossflower seem to be here. Perfect timing for a council or war, it is. This is something that they'll just have to be interrupted for. Perhaps you two could tell us all you know of the vermin, and help us to plan a retaliation?"  
  
Both nodded, and followed Kyra as she led them into Great Hall and sat them down to wait.  
  
Not that much later, Rhyna Reguba, Kilt Fourclaw, RazorFang Ferret, Skythistle Morningdew, Queen Skystar Sparra, Log-A-Log Raivine, and Abbess Samara, the squirrelmaid mother of Redwall Abbey, had arrived in Cavern Hole to join Lucien and Woodshire. All sat around a great wooden table, Kyra at one end with Lucien and Woodshire facing each other one seat down.  
  
Next to them sat Log-A-Log Raivine, with Skystar perched delicately on the chair opposite her. Kilt and Raze followed, both wearing grave countenances. Sky sat facing Rhyna in the next two chairs with Samara on the end opposite Kyra. All were present, and the meeting was about to begin.  
  
"Now," Samara said to start the meeting, "you all know why we have gathered here." Samara was young for a Mother Abbess, but she was a good one. The squirrel was of slim build, with reddish brown fur. There were a few murmurs throughout the hall. "Good. Now, we will hear Lucien the Otter and Woodshire the Hare speak and tell us what they have seen. Would you do the honor of starting, Lucien?"  
  
The otter nodded and stood up, coughing softly and looking around the assembled group of people. Despite his appearance of slight shyness, he spoke in a loud and clear voice that echoed around the Hall. "Well, I'm afraid I can't tell ye much, H'Abbess..." with that, he recounted all that he had seen and told the council all that he knew.  
  
"I saw 'em, an' then I thought to come warn you Abbeybeasts," he concluded. "They are headin' straight for you, so my guess is that they are well aware of you. Kyra confirmed this guess when she let us into the Abbey."  
  
It was then that Lucien sat down, and Kyra interrupted. "Aye, Abbess. They do know about us! Rhyna an' I were trackin' 'em before the feast yesterday. We ran across about a score of 'em, an' there were two weasels there who were talking to the others. They had apparently been spyin' on our Abbey, marm! An' so Rhy an' I went out an' killed 'em all, or so we thought."  
  
The otter banged her fist on the table, raising from her seat. "We must have missed one of them, an' that one went an' alerted Fangarl to our presence! Now th' vermin scum an' her whole army are almost upon us!"  
  
Skystar Sparra clacked her beak angrily. She, like all female Sparra, was dun brown, though a little larger than most. She was Queen by blood, being the daughter of King Brownfeather, who had died seasons ago. If you traced her bloodlines back far enough, you would find that she was a direct decendant of the great Queen Warbeak of seasons past, a fact of which she was very proud.  
  
"Yes, Ottaskippa! You right to be angry. Wormferret attack our Abbey, so we killum all! Killum all vermin wormscum! Killie um all. Sparra good warriors. Sparra fight for Redwall!" All applauded at this short speech by the brave Sparra Queen.  
  
Rhyna nodded gravely, agreeing with the bloodthirsty little warrior completely. They would have to defend the Abbey. What else could they do? Rhyna was not going to surrender to a great bunch of sniveling vermin cowards. By the Claw, Rhyna would bring in her entire fighting force of squirrels to defend this Abbey!  
  
"Aye, Skystar," she said grimly and resignedly, "we'll kill 'em all an' give those scum sommat to think about, so we will! Now, we've got to think of a way to do it, don't we? I suggest we find out what the hare knows, an' then start plannin' a strategy. How does that sound?"  
  
There were murmurs of approval to the Reguba's suggestion. When they had died down, Woodshire stood up. The hare, though he had other things on his mind, didn't find fault in helping the goodbeasts. His daughter had grown up among them, after all. Besides, he didn't want the Abbey to fall so easily. The longer and harder the war, the easier it would be to get Sky out and to continue with his own plans.  
  
"Well, I really can't tell you much more than Lucien here did," he admitted. "I too saw a ferret, presumably Fangarl or one of her captains, leading an army of camouflaged vermin through Mossflower. I saw 'em an' came here, wot. These vermin aren't to be taken lightly, though. You'll need to defend yourself!"  
  
Kilt nodded and stood on his paws. "Aye, so we will, but the question is how? It's all nice and good to sit here, waiting for Fangarl to make the first move, but we've got to take some action for defense, an' even to retaliate! We'll need to guard the Abbey somehow. Mount watchbeasts, hand out weapons, harvest enough food to prepare for a siege. Redwall's an ideal place to withstand a siege, because of the orchards and all. Raze would know quite a bit about fighting. Former corsair, y'see. Corsairs are always fightin' each other, either fightin' with those of their own crew or with other ships 'n crews altogether. I suggest we ask him. He'd know more than most, anyway."  
  
Raze nodded, standing too to support his friend. Kilt was right. Corsairs did have quite a bit of experience in this type of thing. Raze had always scorned being a corsair. He felt that it set him apart, and that it tainted him somehow. It was something he could never escape. However, for the first time, his experience would be put to good use! He was eager to show that he could fight and plan along with the best of them.  
  
"Kilt is right, mateys," he said enthusiastically. "We've got t'do sommat! So lets stop sayin' that an' start planning! I suggest that we get Kyra an' Rhyna to tell their warriors th' news, an' set a constant guard on the walltops, while we all have our weapons at the ready. Since we're not the ones attacking, there isn't much we can do but wait."  
  
Sky, who had been silent until now, decided that it was her turn to speak. This was rather unusual, since Sky- like most hares- was extremely talkative by nature. Still, Sky had been thinking hard, and had finally realized that reinforcements were right under their very noses! And so, she decided to voice her ideas and thoughts to the others.  
  
"But there is somethin' I c'n do, ol bean!" All eyes and heads turned towards her, waiting for her to continue. "I'll gladly send a message to Salamandastron to ask for some hares to come up here an' help us. We'll need all the help we can get if we're facin' an entire bloomin' horde now, won't we?"  
  
"Aye, an' you can use MacPhearsome to send it, Sky." Kyra suggested. "Give that eagle a message and he'll see that its delivered and be back in time for the fighting. We make a great team, an' I wouldn't fight without him at me side, so I wouldn't!" And so, the friends stayed talking for hours as the Abbey began to stir from the post-feast slumber.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Five**

Kyra and her otters waited outside on the abbey grounds with Rhyna and her squirrels, as well as with quite a few abbeydwellers. All were armed with anything from quarterstaves to flails to bows and arrows. Kyra stood among them, her grandmothers bow strapped to her back, her eyes ablaze with the light of bloodlust and battle.  
  
Of course, she was not in her bloodwrath state, simply in a state of impatience, of eager anticipation. Soon, the battle for her beloved abbey would begin, and Kyra would do all that she could to make sure that the Abbey did not fall to Fangarl and the other vermin.  
  
Earlier that morning, the squirrel and otter sentries that Kyra and Rhyna had positioned on the walltops had reported that there was a great army of vermin in the ditch next to the road that ran in front of the Abbey. Kyra had been disgusted at the unoriginality of this maneuver on the part of the vermin.  
  
The buffoons did what every single other army did- they stood in front of the Abbey waving their little daggers about and bullyragging the Abbey. Well, Kyra and Rhyna were both determined to show the vermin what their warriors could really do. Let the vermin try and attack.  
  
After the army had been sighted in the distance, Kyra and Rhyna had summoned their warriors without hesitation. Everyone that could fight was summoned onto the grounds, waiting to see what the ferret commander would do once her horde was ready to make the first move of the battle for Redwall.  
  
Rhyna stood a little distance away, passing out bows and arrows to her squirrel archers and making sure that her own weapons were in good condition. She patted the flexible blade at her belt, smiling slightly. That small sword had served her well many times. Hopefully, it would do so again.  
  
It was at that moment that an arrow fletched with black feathers shot over the parapet, landing with a thud in the ground. Kyra stepped forwards, taking the arrow in her paw and pulling off a piece of paper that was tied to it. She snapped the arrow in half and threw it to the ground, unrolling the scroll and reading it aloud for all to hear.  
  
The writing was cramped, but neat and clear, without any misspellings. Kyra was impressed. This didn't look as if a vermin soldier had written it at all. This worried her, too. They were not dealing with a rogue band of miscreants, then. Someone in the army below was educated, at least in some aspects.

"Fangarl the Cruel hereby decrees that  
  
all the woodlanders in this place and  
  
in the forest of Mossflower must now  
  
surrender to her. Any creatures that  
  
do not surrender will be killed on sight.  
  
If you should choose to surrender to  
  
Fangarl peacefully, you're homes, land,  
  
and all of your possessions will be the  
  
property of Fangarl."

The otter stopped reading it at that point, even though there were still many more words on the parchment. Kyra threw the parchment away, her face the picture of repugnance and disgust. This 'Fangarl' dared to threaten her and everyone else at the Abbey with proclamations of slavery and death?  
  
Kyra fairly shook with contained fury as she held the parchment in one paw, having already ground the arrow to a pulp under one powerful paw. Not saying a word, Kyra took her left paw and ripped the parchment to shreds, throwing it upon the ground and stamping it into the earth along with the pieces of broken arrow.  
  
"I can't speak for ye all, friends," Kyra said, "but I'm not about to let a bloody ferret go around sendin' us decrees of death an' destruction. She's obviously underestimated our strength, an' I'm all fer showin' her what we Abbeybeasts are made of! What say you t'that?"  
  
Sky nodded and stepped forwards through the crowd. She had just arrived there from the Abbey Kitchens, where, while stealing a few scones, she had scrawled out a hasty plea for help and had given it to MacPhearsome to take to Salamandastron. The eagle had agreed willingly and had flown off to deliver it.  
  
"Well, I think Skip 'ere has hit the bally nail on the head, doncha know! Can't really let this ferret walk all over us as if we were already her slaves, can we? I've been a slave, an' its no jolly walk in the woods, wot! Listen, we Redwall lot have shown vermin in th' past what we can do. Why, in ancient times, Matthias and the simple Redwallers defeated a fully trained rat horde without warriors like the ones we have now!"  
  
Kyra nodded her agreement, her rudder tail thumping on the ground to emphasize her point. "Aye! How many times have we engaged in battle without more than staves and luck? We've got fully trained war bands, not to mention supplies an' weapons. Fangarl can't very well just kill us all, can she? She won't have any slaves from Redwall. I say we fight for what is rightfully our: our lives! Who's with me?"  
  
There was a tremendous wordless uproar from the crowd. A few otters and hares went among those who did not already have weapons and passed them out, making sure everybeast had something to defend themselves with, whether they would be fighting in the battle or not.  
  
The Otters and Squirrels, already possessing weapons, ran up onto the ramparts, while Abbeybeasts did all manner of Redwall chores, from guarding the dibbuns and old ones to gathering food from the orchard in case of a siege. Kyra and Rhyna's warriors, along witha chosen few Redwallers, stood on the wall tops, looking down into the ditch.  
  
Kyra nodded to the otters that stood in ranks behind her, carrying slings, bows and arrows, and even occasional otter javelins. Standard equipment for a River Otter Warrior. Kyra smiled, putting an arrow to the string of her bow and pulling it back to the point. The bow required a great amount of strength to draw, but Kyra had gotten used to it.  
  
She nodded at her otter army, and they too loaded stones and arrows into their various weapons. She nodded, and squinted one eye, peering into the ditch. Beads of sweat appeared on her brow, not caused by the bow and arrow, but caused by the anticipation and bloodlust that rose within her.  
  
Nodding to her otters, they all nocked shafts to their own bows. "Ready?" Kyra yelled, making sure that all of her otters could hear her. They could. All of them nodded an affirmative, and Kyra pulled back her own string a bit farther.  
  
"Pick out yore targets, mates." All of the otters did, leaning forwards to see into the ditch with more ease. Kyra smiled, picking out her own target amongst the vermin. "Fire!" All of the otters released the tension that had been building in their bowstrings, letting their arrows sail far and high, falling closer and closer to the vermin far below.  
  
Rhyna, who had conducted a similar procedure with her squirrel archers and swordbeasts, watched as the arrows sailed overhead, almost all landing in the ditch. Her smile broadened considerably as she heard the numerous screams coming out of the ditch.  
  
She sighed a satisfied sigh, pulling back her own arrow on her bowstring, making sure that it was drawn fully to the point. It flew straight and true, killing a vermin in the ditch. She reveled in the scream that was emitted as her arrow snuffed out another life. One by one, Fangarl's army would fall.  
  
Meanwhile, down in the ditch, Fangarl licked pointed teeth as she pulled Vannin and Erecan closer to her. The two captains were nervous, but they had learnt over long seasons of service not to show any emotion around Fangarl. She might consider an emotional soldier a weak one. Erecan shot Vannin a sarcastic and insolent glance, but the ferret pretended not to notice a thing.  
  
Both captains were forced to work together frequently, and so both had formed a strong hatred of each other, but they put on an air of friendship. It was a never-ending game between the two. Eve though they hated each other, neither one let it show.  
  
Erecan looked at Fangarl straight in the eye, waiting for her to speak first. He was clever, cleverer than most vermin, and he was certainly clever enough to know not to insult Fangarl in any way. That would mean instant death for him, and Erecan didn't fancy visiting Hellgates just yet.  
  
Weasels were not usually the brightest of vermin. They, like rats, usually did not lead hordes or hold high ranks. There were exceptions for both species, however. Feragho the Assassin, Cluny the Scourge, Gabool the Wild, and many more. Erecan was one of those exceptions, and an extremely good exception at that.  
  
Most weasels were large, but Erecan was larger still, and his heart was almost as black as Fangarl's. Almost. The weasel wielded a beautiful saber, a sapphire embedded in its hilt. He had stolen it from a long dead enemy, of course. Erecan was not only strong and well armed, but he also had cunning almost unmatched in its greatness.  
  
His cunning was usually turned towards ending Vannin's life, but he had not yet been successful. That ferret. . . he hated Vannin more than any other creature he had ever met. But, soon, Erecan would be the victor of their little games. He had to kill Vannin, not only because he hated the arrogant Ferret, but because if he didn't kill Vannin first, Vannin might kill him.  
  
Vannin, though a bit smaller, was a rather superior ferret even for his clever and quick-witted breed. The huge weasel was taller than him, but the ferret was dangerous and cruel. Just as cruel, and just as good a fighter, even if his build was stockier. He and Erecan were both well muscled and were both quick witted.  
  
If they hadn't been, Fangarl would not have chosen both of them as captains. Besides, she knew that both of them hated each other. It kept them on their toes, never allowing either to grow lazy. And if they were both busy plotting against each other, they wouldn't be so quick to plot against her.  
  
The two had tried to kill each other on numerous occasions. Not only had they tried to kill each other, but they often put on battles of wits and all sorts of shows. Both were equally matched, however, and none was ever the victor, no matter how hard they sweated or plotted.  
  
The ferretmaid looked both of her trusted captains in the eye, her voice soft and light, yet as dangerous as a cobra about to strike. "Well now, captains, what news have you? Have you found The Phantom for me yet? That stoat is invaluable to my plans, numbskulls, so if I hear that you've failed me, you're both done for. Understand?"  
  
Erecan smiled coolly, stepping forwards and speaking in a silky and dangerous tone, almost as evil as Fangarl's. "Well, Mistress, we've got 'im for you. He's waiting jus' outside th' tent. He won't do nothin' without a reward. If you want my advice, get 'im t'do whatever you want, then make sure t'stick yore blade in 'is stomach 'fore you pay 'im."  
  
Vannin nodded. "Aye. For once, I agree wid Erecan. I wouldn't pay the scumbag noffink! Me 'n Erecan'd get far less 'n we should if you enlist 'im in yore plans an' don't rid yerself o' the debt after 'e's done 'is duty. Want me t'call 'im for you, Mistress? That fiend is waitin' jus' outside. If I know Phantom, 'ell be listenin' to our conversation widout an ear or paw touchin' th' tent."  
  
Fangarl nodded. "Aye. That'd be like him, right enough. Phantom! I know your outside listening to every word I say, so get in here so that we can see you. And no tricks now, stoat! I don't want to have to kill you. You're too important to my plans at the moment. And I will kill you if I can't see you, you know." There was a slight rustling of the tent flap as the almost invisible stoat entered.  
  
Vannin blinked, trying to make sure he had seen the tent flap open at all. Erecan blinked too, his eyes scanning the tent, hoping to spot the stoat somewhere amidst Fangarl's things. Then, from besides Fangarl, a voice hissed.  
  
The voice sounded somewhat like serpent's hiss, and was so quietly uttered that Fangarl could barely hear what was spoken. "Phantom herr, Miztriz. Phantom seez all. Phantom knowz all. You want Phantom t'go into Redstone house, yarr? Phantom not let Miztriz killum. Phantom go inna Redstone House anyway, yarr."  
  
Fangarl nodded, and as she did so, Phantom came into full view. The stoat appeared as if out of thin air. His fur was gray, darker than the fur of most stoats. He blended perfectly with the shadows. Of course, you could always see him at Midday, but almost never at any other time, especially at night.  
  
His fur was almost patchworked, a network of different gray shades, all shadow like in appearance. That was why he was called the phantom. When near the shadows, he was all but invisible. He smiled, showing green teeth in his widely open maw. "Aye, stoat," Fangarl replied. That's what I want you to do, Phantom."  
  
The stoat backed away, aware that Fangarl's paw would be upon her dagger hilt in a second. "Phantom not afraid of you, ferret, yarr. Me go inside Redstone house, unlock front door. That's what ferretchief wants, yarr? Phantom knowz all. Seez all. Knowz you try to kill once job is done. Miztriz no kill Phantom easily. Fair deal, yarr?"  
  
Fangarl nodded again, with Vannin and Erecan staring intently at the Phantom, determined not to lose sight of him again.  
  
"But," he continued, "Phantom wantz 'is rewardsez, Miztriz. Phantom wantz booty from Redstone House! There be lotsa booty inside. Phantom knowz. Simplebeasts that live inside that place have valuablez. Phantom wantz 'is share, Miztriz. You give Phantom some, he go in an' unlock gate from inside. Phantom picks locks plenty good, yarr! Phantom knowz all."  
  
Fangarl smiled, her own teeth milky white and perfectly clean. "Aye, Phantom. You read my mind like an open book, mate. Make yew a deal, stoat. You get us into this H'Abbey, I give you a third of the plunder inside. How does that sound, eh? A third of whatever we find. The soldiers'll be contented with a few trinkets."  
  
Phantom nodded, "A third, Phantom getz! He go inside Redstone house at duskerz, yarr. Dey no see Phantom in shadow then! Me go now, an' give beasts slice wid me knife. Open door once inside. You attack eventide, an' let Phantom get inside, yarr?" Fangarl nodded once in acknowledgement, and the Phantom slunk back into the shadows.  
  
The sun sped across the sky as if it were being pursued. Before anybeast could blink, it was night.  
  
The Phantom crept off into the night, Vannin and Erecan leading threebeasts each behind them as they went their own ways. It was all according to the plan. Vannin headed to the North, with two rats and a second ferret following him. Erecan headed to the South wall of the Abbey, leading a weasel, a stoat, and a ferret behind him. Phantom had no party to escort him. He did his work alone.  
  
Fangarl's plan had been simple, really. The three groups would sneak to their respective wallgates, pick the locks without being seen by the sentries, and shoot any that did spot them. Secrecy was the key. Once they were inside, Vannin, Erecan, and their followers would take care of any Redwall beasts while Phantom, invisible in the shadows, would open the main gate for Fangarl.  
  
Above them, the star strewn sky was ebony black in color, touches of blue and green from the last rays of the sun merging and twisting with the shining beams of silver that the moon and stars sent onto the landscape. Despite the beauty of the sky, the repugnant scent of blood filled the air, winding it's way into the nostrils of all the creatures below.  
  
They were at a stalemate. Earlier in the day, volleys of arrows and slings had been sent between wall and ditch, between ditch and wall, and each side had suffered minor losses. Still, their blood had been spilt, and it tainted the ground on which it fell. Thick, salty, red liquid burrowing deep into the pure brown soil and turning it sickeningly sticky.  
  
Vannin stepped cautiously forwards, his paws feeling cold on the slightly damp earth. Through the greenery around him, his eyes stared at the brown wood of the small Northern wallgate door. The ferret reached the door; paw outstretched, and looked above him warily for any signs of sentries. There were a few Otters and Squirrels, but not many.  
  
The ruthless captain took another step, pulling a piece of wire greased with oil and a dagger from his belt. He then set to work. . . A while later, after much jiggling of wires, banging softly on doors, and disappointed grunts, Vannin managed to get the job done.  
  
The ferret motioned to his three vermin, and all four tip pawed through the slightly open door, with the last rat shutting the door closed softly behind him. Vannin's smile broadened as he saw the shadowy form of three creatures sneaking through the dark near the southern wall. Erecan was inside as well. Good. They were all in position now.  
  
Upon the ramparts, high above, Kyra Longfletch stifled a yawn and shot another arrow, not able to stop her yawn for a smile as she heard a scream from one of the vermin below. The vermin had recently started a new attack on the gate, hoping to force their way through. Kyra sighed. Though the losses for both sides were great, Fangarl's numbers seemed to be unaffected, while their own numbers were waning.  
  
Rhyna, who was strolling nearby on the ramparts, saw the Skipper and shot her a worried glance. "Kys? You alright?"  
  
The ottermaid nodded sleepily. It had been a long time since she had been able to close her eyes, and her senses were beginning to grow groggier and groggier as the hours slowly ticked by. She had been exerting an enormous amount of energy in this war, never stopping her volleys of arrows. "I ain't got blood gushin' out of me, 'ave I?" she said, rather crankily.  
  
The squirrelmaid smiled and dragged Kyra off, pushing her down the first of the battlement stairs. "You don't look fine t'me, Skipper." Kyra staggered a bit and blinked her eyes, trying to stop her head from throbbing. "You, m'lady, are goin' straight down to the dormitories an' have a nice lie in. You need it! Y'haven't stopped shootin' your green shafts all day."  
  
Kyra sighed, waving and nodding at Rhyna as she left. The ottermaid then turned to go down the stairs to the battlements and start going towards the dormitories. Suddenly, her ears pricked up. Someone was nearby, all of her senses told her that someone was somewhere on the grounds, hidden in the shadows. Kyra's vision came clear, and she sighed with relief. It was Sky with fresh arrows for the archers.  
  
Kyra waved, trying to attract her friend's attention, but her heart leapt up into her throat and her waves suddenly became more serious. The Skipper had seen four shadowy figures closing in on the unsuspecting Sky. She pulled on hidden reserves of strength, running towards Sky for a few steps, tripping because of weariness, picking herself up again, and trying to run again.  
  
Sky, however, was a seasoned warrior. The haremaid drew her saber as fast as if it had been attached to her paw and swung it at the four vermin behind her. There was a scream, and a stoat fell onto the ground, writhing as blood spurted out from a deep, jagged wound on his neck.  
  
Kyra was about to try and run towards Sky again, hoping to aid her friend, but that was when she saw the shadows of four more intruders behind her. There wasn't time to call out. In a few seconds, all three vermin were dead. Green fletched arrows were buried in their flesh. Kyra stepped on the carcasses of the three vermin that she had killed and took her arrows back, staring at the ferret that remained.  
  
Vannin stared back. "Come an' face me, waterhound, or are ye afraid t'come close enough t'play?" the ferret sneered, his eyes boring into Kyra's. The ottermaid dropped her bow, gesturing at Vannin's belt, which held all sorts of blades, ropes, and other such equipment.  
  
"Put that down, an' face me in a test of strength, vermin scum. Who knows what kind of tricks you've got hiding in that there belt," she continued. "An' let me warn you, I can catch daggers an' arrows as easily as if they was only butterflies blinded by th' noonday sun, ferret. Don't try anything."  
  
The ferret sneered and slowly unhooked his belt. "You callin' me a coward, Riverdog? I'll show ye coward!" He let it drop with a slight clatter to the ground.  
  
"Good, vermin scum," Kyra jeered, "You've managed to impress me a little." The ferret raised an eyebrow mockingly, meeting Kyra squarely, stepping forwards a few paces to stand evenly with her. "Now, show me what you c'n really do! An' I'll show you what I do to people who try an' 'arm my friends at Redwall!"  
  
The ottermaid threw herself at her attacker, ramming her shoulder with as much force as she could muster into the soft fur of his stomach. The ferret had dug his claws firmly into the ground, so as not to be put off balance, but he had underestimated the strength of his only slightly larger opponent.  
  
He toppled head over tail onto the ground, but recovered neatly, leaping to his feet almost as swiftly as he had fallen. Kyra's gaze was growing even blurrier than it had been before, and it was starting to be tinted with red. Vannin lashed out with a footpaw, taking the Skipper off guard and catching her in the stomach.  
  
The ferret captain ran forwards, dodging to the left and neatly tripping his adversary. Vannin might have won then, if Kyra hadn't been a friend of Skythistle and Clairethye of the Long Patrol.The ottermaid, remembering an old Salamandastron hare fighting technique, lashed out with her powerful back legs, catching the ferret completely off guard and knocking him down onto his tail.  
  
Vannin picked himself up, and. . . thwack! Kyra's heavy, rudder-like tail hit him full in the face! The ferret ran forwards, breathing heavily, trying to ignore the blood throbbing in his face and leaking from his nose. His body twisted, making as if to rush her from the front, but instead he darted to the side, circling Kyra completely.  
  
Kyra was taken by surprise, not quite sure what was happening. The ferret, meanwhile, had ended up behind the Skipper and, with one fluid movement, pushed her from behind. It was then that he leapt on top of her, ready to crush her. That was a big mistake for Vannin.  
  
The ottermaid turned around while still on the ground, writhing in the dirt as a serpent or worm would. She dodged to the left, her body still twisting, and moved a fraction of an inch to the left just in time. Vannin's jump completely missed Kyra, and the unfortunate ferret fell flat on the hard ground. He picked himself up, seeing stars and black patches in his vision.  
  
The ottermaid fell down upon her adversary, and both ferret and otter struggled about on the ground, trying to push each other down into the blood stained earth. It was then that Kyra got her paws about the ferret's throat. She grabbed his neck, her paws as firmly set as steel. The ferret struggled, trying to pull out of her cold grasp!  
  
As blackness conquered his vision, Vannin smiled. The otter's grip was loosening! Only a bit more and. . . Kyra slumped onto the ground, exhausted. She rested her head on Vannin's chest lazily, hardly able to move. She felt no heartbeat. Good. Then, sliding off of her dead enemy, Kyra slipped into unconsciousness.  
  
A few minutes later, a dark form approached the place where Sky had been fighting her own party of vermin. Woodshire smiled, twitching his ears and pulling his daughter up onto his back and dragging her off into Mossflower.  
  
The South gate was still unlocked. . . Once both hares were gone, Phantom slid forward, like a shadow that had crept out of a bad dream. The stoat headed towards the wallgate, with no other creature around to have even the slightest chance of detecting him.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Six**

The large gatehouse door slowly opened, and though it made only a small creak, everybeast on the field heard the sound of the rusty hinges echo over and over again in their ears. Fangarl's horde charged inside the Abbey grounds while Redwallers, squirrels, and otters dashed down the ramparts to fight at close quarters with the vermin enemies that so cruelly threatened the abbey that they all loved so much.  
  
Rhyna was in the thick of it, flaying about with her sword. Kilt and Raze, vermin though they were, considered Redwall to be their home and were prepared to risk their lives defending it. The two ferrets stood back to back, Raze hacking away at vermin on one side while Kilt used his twin curved swords to cut down the enemy on the other.  
  
Kyra's otters were also giving a good account of themselves in the battle, whirling slings and shooting arrows. Otters, who were bigger than almost any creature save Badgers and who equaled hares in size, were very dangerous. Most vermin steered clear of them, trying instead to go for the few abbey mice that were present.  
  
These, however, proved to be dangerous too! Though the majority of the mice had stayed inside, the ones that had come out were fighting well indeed, the spirit of the Abbey filling their hearts and giving all of the abbey fighters the strength that they needed to cut down the vermin as well as Martin the Warrior himself had done many seasons ago.  
  
Rhyna and her Squirrels had formed many deadly ranks on the ramparts, shooting down random arrows into the sea of vermin running about below, and smiling when they heard a scream. A few of the squirrels ran among the vermin below, their blades crimson with the blood of their enemies and their eyes alight with the fervor of battle.  
  
Kilt and Raze continued hacking and slashing, though their little army was being slaughtered by Fangarl's superiorly trained and armed forces. Neither ferret remembered afterwards which one called out the message that then rang out clear and true through the ranks of tired warriors, but one of them yelled into the thick of the crowd, "Retreat! Retreat! Back to the Abbey!"  
  
Despite their gallant fighting, the small army of Redwallers, Otters, and Squirrels had been cut in half, while Fangarl seemed to have fourscore beasts for every one that she had lost! They had all fought bravely, but there seemed to be no hope for them.  
  
There was a feeling of sadness among the troops, and though they were all silent and did not discuss their feelings and emotions, every last creature felt a sense of impending doom rising within their breasts. No matter how well they fought, Fangarl's soldiers seemed to have defeated them in quantity, if not in quality.  
  
Kilt and Raze were in the midst of all the other warriors, both with their own thoughts. They had just found peace at Redwall, and now they would be forced to have to surrender it to a ferret and her horde. What luck they had had! Kilt looked at his friend, and shrugged. "I don' wanna be an 'ordebeast again, Raze. Or a crewbeast neither. I didn't like it afore, an' I don't wanna do it again."  
  
"Aye, mate," the ferret agreed gravely. "We finally get ourselves an 'ome, an' it gets taken from us. But, I know I ain't gonna die like no cowardly vermin. I'm gonna die upright, fightin' wid tooth 'n claw, like a warrior. Those high 'n mighty vermin hordeleaders 'ave no idea what real bravery means! I know that I probably won't live out this day, but I'm goin' t'fight until I die."  
  
Though the ferret didn't know it, the entire remains of the brave but small army from Redwall had stopped to listen to his words. There was total silence as the last echoes of the ferrets loud and clear voice disappeared in the depths of the Abbey interior. Raze grinned a bit awkwardly, knowing that every creature had heard every word that he had said.  
  
Slowly, the sound of a single pair of paws clapping together could be heard above the thudding of hundreds of weary and sore hearts. Then, the applause grew a bit louder, with the Otters and Squirrels joining in. And soon, though it seemed to the small army like no time at all, the entire war band was whooping and cheering, clapping paws and stomping feet, waving their weapons in the air.  
  
Kilt grinned, and winked broadly at Raze. The ferret tried to ignore him, looking rather sheepish and embarrassed after his inadvertent speech to the small and weary Redwall Army. "Well, Raze," Kilt said cheerily, "it looks like we're goin' t'do somethin' about that ferret and her horde after all, doesn't it?"  
  
Raze nodded, and the two ferrets ran towards the great abbey doors, each grabbing a handle and opening one of the great slabs of wood. The Redwallers charged out to their last and valiant fight. And so, the Abbeydwellers rushed out into Fangarl's waiting horde.  
  
The fight that raged on then was one of the worst that had ever been recorded in Redwall History. Blood ran over the ground, screams, could be heard ringing throughout the grounds as swords hacked, sabers stabbed, flails swung, archers shot, and battlecries rang, many for the last time.  
  
Fear of Fangarl and of death was what kept the vermin of Fangarl's Horde fighting with tooth and claw, using every last scrap of their effort to do their Mistresses bidding. Yes, fear and utter terror was what kept them going, and this same feeling turned them into fierce and desperate warriors who would stop at nothing to win, if only to preserve their own hides for a season or two more.  
  
The few surviving Redwallers were in the center of the army, hacking and stabbing with a will, knowing that this was their chance to be warriors and fight for what they loved. Their glory would be told of with ardor and admiration for seasons and seasons to come, passed on to dibbuns from their elders by word of mouth on cold winter nights after being brought a hot drink.  
  
A group of squirrel archers sent their shafts deep into the flesh of their enemies, determined to make sure that the blood of the Redwallers wasn't spilt in vain. Columns of otters clashed otter javelins against their enemies swords, whirling slings above their heads as their brave comrades died around them.  
  
Redwall mice dove in to the fray with a will, while brave Sparra warriors swooped down onto the vermin from high above. Skystar flew above them in circles, screeching out orders and egging her brave little feathered warriors on. "Hurryup Sparra! Sparra warriors allbrave! Fight and killie wormrats! Killie! Killie for goodmice! Killie! Sparra warriors not give up! Defend Abbey!"  
  
The vermin still outnumbered the goodbeasts at least twenty to one, and though many more of them had died, the woodlanders were still being slowly crushed in the center of the mob. It was then, at their darkest hour, that the woodlanders heard a faint rumbling from the distance. The clashing of sword upon steel stopped as all turned to see the source of the great noise coming from the far west.  
  
As the hearts of the vermin were crushed inside them where they stood, the hearts of the goodbeasts soared as if they had grown wings and taken flight. Lucien Streambed, who was carrying one of his circular blades in one paw, looked up into the sky. The sight that he saw there made his heart lift in his chest, and all were silent as every head turned to look.  
  
Hanging in the sky just above the setting sun was a golden eagle, his feathers resplendent in the evening light, his majestic head held high. His great hooked beak clacked angrily, his wings spread to their fullest extent, the sun just behind him, his great form dancing in shadow and his great beak opening to let out his ferocious northern warcry for all the vermin to hear. . . "KYYEEEEEAAAAAR!"  
  
Following that warcry was an even louder one. This warcry was one that they knew all too well, and one that had defeated them when Fangarl had visited Salamandastron long before. "EULALIAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" The Salamandastron Long Patrol had arrived!  
  
Their sabers drawn, the hares from the great fire mountain in the far west dove charged into the vermin. MacPhearsome flew above as the hares added a fresh wave of deaths to Fangarl's numbers. Kilt grinned widely, his cheeks hurting with the effort. The ferret dove into the fray, slashing about with his blade.  
  
"Lookit that," he called out excitedly, his heart leaping inside him. "Those 'ares might be gluttons, but they sure c'n fight up a storm! C'mon, Redwallers, lets show these longeared saints that they aren't th' only ones what c'n fight! REDWAAAALL!"  
  
Lucien jumped forwards, as did the rest of the small band of survivors, and grinned from ear to ear at Kilt as they started fighting together. He cast the hares an admiring glance as well before agreeing with Kilt wholeheartedly. "Aye, Kilt Fourclaw, so they can. 'Aven't ye ever 'eard th' term Perilous 'Are, mate?" Kilt hadn't, but didn't say so.  
  
A rather pretty female hare who was fighting near by with many a fancy saber stroke grinned and winked after overhearing their conversation. "Aye, an' th' Long Patrol are th' most Perilous of 'em all, wot! I'm Cap'n Clairethye of th' Long Patrol, doncha know. These blighters here are m'regiment. As soon as that scallywag MacPhearsome showed up saying that Kys and Sky needed us, we got here as fast as we could."  
  
It was after this that Lucien caught sight of something that made his heart leap almost as much as the hares had. Guosim Warriors! Hundreds of them, charging straight towards the fray, lead by Log-A-Log Raivine! And who else would be at their head, but Swifteye!  
  
The Otter dove forwards, hearing the Guosim warcry ringing in his ears as he ran towards his squirrelmaid friend like a madbeast. "LOOOOOG-A- LOOOOOG!" The young squirrelmaid bounded straight over the vermins heads, ignorant of them as she sped towards Lucien. Then, the two friends stood back to back, fighting the vermin with all their strength.  
  
Meanwhile, in Mossflower, Sky regained consciousness a bit before sunset. The first thing that the young Salamandastron Captain felt was pain. Her four paws had been bound to a tree, and were slightly bloated and numb because of their bindings. Her circulation had been neatly cut off.  
  
Her eyesight was blurry at first as she finally lifted her heavy lids. It was only then that the battle she had participated in at Redwall came back to her. It came back slowly, and at first the haremaid saw only flashing images, all running through her mind at breakneck speed. Her most recent past was a blur, rushing by her as if soaring on eaglewing.  
  
She had been getting arrows. She had been attacked by four vermin in all. She had slain the first weasel with her saber, and the two other vermin had followed swiftly. The fur on the back of her neck prickled as she remembered the next part. She had seen Kyra use her bow to kill three more vermin that had come up next to her. Then, a big muscular weasel had come up to her, sword drawn. And then. . .  
  
And then, bursting realization thudded into her still groggy mind. Redwall! What was happening? Had any of the vermin escaped? Had they let in the army? Was Redwall, even now, besieged by the vermin? Had the Redwallers lost their abbey after seasons and seasons? Had Redwall, at last, fallen to the claws of the vermin? Was Fangarl its new mistress now?  
  
Suddenly, her neck felt as if fire was running up it, as if molten led was coursing through every vein in her throat. The haremaid winced, gurgling in the back of her throat, her supply of oxygen cut off as the pain rushed through her neck tendons, coursing up into her aching head. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She tried again, and still nothing happened. She was mute as a stone.  
  
The weasel. . .  
  
He must have hurt her neck so badly that she couldn't talk! The hare couldn't tell, but she could almost feel the lumps on her neck where future scars would be. She winced. Then, a slow smile of satisfaction crossed her lips. She had killed him, though. That weasel might have taken her voice with his sword, but she, Skythistle Morningdew Meadowsong, had taken his life.  
  
Sky relived the battle she had had with the weasel, taking comfort from the only good thing that had happened. Despite her ferocious pain and almost blinding agony, the haremaid had charged at her weasel like a small furry hurricane, making short work of her larger and heavier opponent. She had killed him, right enough! But then, why was she here in Mossflower?  
  
It was only then that the haremaid truly saw where she was. Her blurry eyes settled on a campfire nearby, and shadowy bodies sitting around it. She was in a vermin Camp! The haremaid would have screamed, but her throat would utter no sound. Vermin! What were they doing here? The haremaid opened her mouth to speak, but she did not make a single sound.  
  
Then, straight through the twoscore vermin, strode a hare. Sky recognized him immediately. Woodshire! He had been at the meeting in Redwall, hadn't he? He was the one who had come to warn them of the vermin. But why was he here, of all places? Why wasn't he back defending Redwall?  
  
The hare stretched out a paw, running it down his injured daughter's cheek. Sky was too stunned and surprised to protest, and she had no voice to protest with. The bindings on her paws severely restricted her movement. The hare opened his mouth to speak. Sky wasn't able to stop him. "So, I see that you've awakened at last. Hello, Daughter."  
  
Sky stared. Even if she hadn't been mute, she wouldn't have been able to speak. She could only watch as he strode back and forth, pacing in front of her, his ears folded back and his hands clasped behind his back. She was stunned. Daughter? What had he meant by that? How was she supposed to be his daughter? Had Woodshire gone completely insane?  
  
"Surprised to find out who I am, Skythistle?" Woodshire asked, a smile creeping across his lips. The hare stopped pacing and turned to face her. "Don't remember your old dad, do you? Well, Miss, I've got a short little story to tell you that I think you'll find amusing. I couldn't tell you at Redwall, of course. You wouldn't have listened. And even if you had listened to me, you wouldn't have believed me."  
  
Sky glared at Woodshire, her eyes seemingly set aflame, her heart pounding within her and her stomach muscles clenching. The haremaid's expression was just as good as a voice. Its message was clear. 'Tying me isn't how to get me to listen.' Woodshire stepped forwards and placed a sympathetic paw on her shoulder.  
  
"Sorry about the. . . inconvenience. I'm hurt by it as much as you are, my dear, but I could never have gotten you to sit still and listen except by holding you captive. You're not going to like the story I have to tell you. Roughly fourteen seasons back, I was a Captain of the famous Long Patrol of Salamandastron. I was young, foolish, as perilous and brave as they came. . .  
  
"But, I suppose they told you that at the mountain. What a brave beast your dear dead daddy was. How he died in a vermin attack, losing his entire family except for you. How he gave his life for good. Well, let me correct your assumptions, then.  
  
"Well, I was out on patrol those many, many seasons ago. Me and my troop were attacked by corsairs on the shore! Well, my wife and my older child were there. A big strong son. The battle between my patrol and the corsairs raged throughout the day and one by one my hares fell to their blades." He paused for a moment, and briefly, a look of regret crossed his hatefully and spitefully distorted expression.  
  
"My patrol was as brave and skilled as they came, but the corsairs outnumbered us greatly. There was no chance of survival, but we all gave our lives anyway, trying to rid the sea and shore of the scum that were attacking Salamandastron. Now, all of my patrol was dead. All of my hares were stained with blood by the end of the day. A blood red sun rose the next morning, but only I was alive to see it.  
  
"The corsairs found me and took me onto a ship, since one of their slaves had died and they were in need of a new one. They turned me into a galley slave. The evil scum put me in the front of the ship's lowest deck with my own oar huge oar to row their ship with. I'll never forget those times. Not ever. Not after what they did to me. The pain and torture that it brought. . .  
  
"Seasons went by. Many seasons. Eventually, the corsairs picked up a whole group of new slaves from a trading island, and so they had no further need of the old and weak. Some of the older ones were thrown overboard once in deep water. They only kept the useful beasts. To my surprise, I was asked to join the crew, and I accepted."  
  
Sky was transfixed, her eyes watching her long lost father as he paced back and forth. How could this be true? After all the stories that she had heard about him. . . how brave he had been, dying. . . how could he have joined up with vermin?  
  
"Things went well from there. Oh, very well indeed. I was just an ordinary crewbeast for a while, the Cap'n testing my worth; making sure I would be loyal to him. Of course, I wouldn't, but I wasn't about to let him find that out yet. After a while, I got promoted. I grew in rank until I was one of the top beasts in the crew! In the end, I was second only to the ships Captain.  
  
"Yes, life was good then. But that fool of a Captain should have realized that I would not be happy with only second best. I wanted it all; the crew, the ship, the plunder, the power. I didn't want to be second mate, kissing the captains boots.  
  
"Mutiny was spreading throughout the crew, and I was at the bottom of it. I let a comment slip here, another there, spreading fear and discord throughout the crew. I thought I had it planned perfectly. We were going to take over the ship! But then, disaster struck. On the night before the attack, a spy that had been one of my most trusted informants betrayed us to the Captain!  
  
"Before anything could happen, I was a galley slave once more. That didn't last long. Escape was easily once planned properly. I then left the ship, and made my way to Mossflower wood. Apparently, these vermin had their captain killed not long after, and came to Mossflower looking for me. Now, I have a crew again! All I need is a ship. And you'll come with me, Sky, now that you've heard my story. You c'n help me a lot, dear. What do you say, then?"  
  
Sky spat on the ground near Woodshire's footpaws. The hare smiled. "Well, I'll give you time to think about it, shall I? Good. Oh, yes, you can't answer me, can you? Oh well. I'll just leave you here with my crew for a bit while you. . . reconsider." And, as swiftly as he had come, Woodshire was gone. The crew stayed still, not moving at first.  
  
Woodshire looked about him as he stood ten feet away from the camp. His vermin thought that he was gone, and so did Sky. Good. The hare let out a low, soft whistle, his ear cocked for an answer. He didn't have to wait long. Soon, he could hear the trees and brush rustling slightly as the creature he had called came to him.  
  
A large, sleek black scaly head poked out of the trees. An adder's head! Woodshire did not bat an eyelash. "Greetings, Meikariss Poisontooth."  
  
"Greetingsssss longearssssss. Meikarissssss comessss for your bidding." The snake said in a low hiss. The hare nodded.  
  
"Good, friend. Remember when I spoke to you last? How I said that I would bring you many good creatures to eat if you only killed them for me? Well, they are only a few feet away from here. You may eat all of them. You may do anything with them that you want. But, you must promise not to kill the haremaid tied to the tree. You got that?"  
  
The snake nodded his big head. "Yesssss, longearssss. Meikarisssss understandsss you perfectly. I will kill and eat them all! Yessssss! And Meikarisssss will not eat the other longearsssss. I sssshall kill them now!" And then, the snake headed through the trees to the crowd of vermin that still surrounded Sky.  
  
Meikariss the serpent lashed his tail, his yellow eyes mere slits as he entered the vermin camp. The vermin sitting around the fire were too stunned to move. They all stared up at the giant reptile before them, their eyes opened wide and their jaws agape. They were in complete and utter shock.  
  
Skythistle reacted in much the same way. Though she could not speak, her eyes bugged out, and her heart rate increased rapidly. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, and her breathing became shallow and increasingly quicker. Meikariss watched it all with pleasure, drinking up the fear that the creatures emitted as if it were blood.  
  
And then, he struck. His first victim was a hefty rat with grayish fur. The rat didn't even have time to utter a dying scream. Meikariss left the body where it was. He would collect them all and bring them back to his home later, after he had bitten the others.  
  
Next, he sunk his fangs into a stoat. The stoat groaned, and collapsed to the ground. The remaining vermin were at last coming to their senses, and ran instead of standing around like fat chickens waiting for their turn at the chopping block. Meikariss struck as fast as lightning, snapping left and right, biting every vermin he could get his hands on.  
  
Ferrets, weasels, stoats, rats, and a few foxes fell under the rain of stinging bites that Meikariss dolled out. Soon, every vermin that had been in the camp was dead. Only Sky was left alive.  
  
The adder turned his wedge shaped head towards the female hair, sniffing the air and flicking his forked tongue in and out of his mouth. Yes, this haremaid was plump and juicy, unlike the other creatures that he had killed. Ragged bones, though they were still excellent food. This one was even better, though.  
  
But, then the snake remembered his promise to Woodshire. He had promised not to kill the haremaid that was tied to the tree. He had promised on his life.  
  
However, the snake decided that the haremaid might live without her legs. Woodshire had told him not to kill the haremaid, not to leave her completely alone. And so, he slithered forwards, his stomach growling hungrily as he approached the trapped and helpless haremaiden.  
  
And then. . . the adder knew nothing but pain. He felt a furry body, the body of Woodshire, on the back of his neck, and he felt a sharp pain as the hare dug a shining dagger into his eye. Blood poured onto the ground, and the snake writhed in pain, throwing Woodshire off of his back. And then, he sped away from the clearing and slithered straight towards Redwall Abbey.  
  
Fangarl and her horde were fighting for their lives. This time, it was the vermin who were surrounded! The survivors from the first attack, along with the help of the Long Patrol and the Guosim Shrews were closing in on them, and fast! Fangarl panted as she dueled with more than one beast at once. The ferretmaid was on a killing spree!  
  
The vermin were too tired and busy fighting to shout warcrys. The battlefield that had once been the Redwall Grounds was naught but a once beautiful orchard covered in blood and dead bodies. Fangarl slew a warlike mouse with her great sword, running forwards to start attacking another goodbeast.  
  
It was then that Meikariss came. The huge adder ran straight through the wall, oblivious to everything in its way, bowling over all sorts of creatures as he squirmed over the Redwall grounds, blood squirting from his blind eye. The goodbeasts and vermin alike were too stunned to do anything but move from the snakes trail of destruction.  
  
That hare, Woodshire, was the cause of the adders pain and agony. Yes, that hare had done it. He had poked out the eye of the great serpent. All he had wanted was one bite of the haremaid. He didn't want to kill her. She didn't need her legs, after all. She could have lived. But no, that accursed hare had ruined everything! He had blinded him! He would pay for this treachery!  
  
The snake suddenly veered left, bashing into the army as it tried to rid itself of the pain. The adder was driven mad by the pain in his eye! It felt as if someone had poured vinegar and salt into it and taped the lid down! Blood spattered everybeast as the adder wriggled on the ground, unsure of where he was or what to do.  
  
Then he spotted Fangarl. He had no idea in his pain crazed mind why his single eye fixed on the ferret, but it did. At least having something to distract him from the pain for a moment, the adder jumped forwards, his fangs sinking deep into the ferrets flesh. She screamed, wriggled for a moment in his long sharp teeth, and then died, blood pouring onto the already drenched ground.  
  
Everyone was silent.  
  
Kyra Longfletch opened her eyes. Her head was on a soft pillow, and different creatures were around her bedside. She took a deep breath and tried to sit up, immediately wishing that she hadn't. The ottermaid put a paw to her forehead and winced. "Ohoooo. . . my achin' 'ead! Sister Lavender! Can'tcher gemme somthin' t'stop this pain?"  
  
The good sister, a small mouse who ran the infirmary with a firm paw, came forwards with a dose of something in a tin cup. Kyra drank it down eagerly, not even spitting it out because of its awful taste. Once the slimy stuff had run down her throat, she gagged and sat up straight in bed. The room was in clearer focus. "Oh great seasons, Lavender, what was that stuff you jus' gave me?" The sister smiled.  
  
"Never you mind, riverwhalloper. You just make sure you take it twice a day for a bit. It's a pain reliever. And you aren't the only one who's had to take a dose of it!" Kyra looked around, noticing that many other creatures were in beds next to her. The infirmary was packed!  
  
Standing next to her bed were Sky, Lucien, Kilt, Raze, Swifteye, Log-A-Log Raivine, Skystar, Claire, Rhyna, and even Abbess Samara, though the good abbess was not there for long, instead helping Sister May with her other patients. Kyra smiled at her visitors and looked out of the nearby window, not able to see much.  
  
"So," she asked, feeling a bit awkward. "What happened? All I c'n remember is these intruders. That's right! Intruders! In the Abbey! Sky! You saw 'em! They were tryin' to attack us, but I stopped a few. Then, there was this big ferret, an' I tried t'stop him, but he attacked me, and then I squeezed and I killed him and. . . and. . . and. . . that's all."  
  
Lucien laughed, putting a paw over Kyra's mouth. "Stop talkin' so fast! We know there were intruders. One of 'em got away, an' he let Fangarl an' 'er 'orde in the Abbey. We put up a good battle, but were about to be cut t'pieces before the Long Patrol came an' saved our tails!"  
  
"The Guosim too!" piped up Raivine, the female leader of the Guosim Shrews. "Your friend Swifteye brought us." Kyra looked confused, noticing the strange squirrel standing next to Rhyna for the first time. She gave her a quizzical look and offered her paw to shake. The squirrel took it and gripped firmly.  
  
"Oh, hello there. I'm Swifteye, though most call me Swifty, or Sam, which is my proper name. I'm a friend of Luciens. I knew he had come to Redwall. I followed his trail through Mossflower, y'see. I saw the vermin, an' reckoned that I'd bring along some help for Redwall. Rainne an' I are friends."  
  
Kyra smiled and gave the Guosim leader a grateful look. "I know Raivine too! Log-A-Log Raivine an' I go way back. She was the one who helped rescue me three seasons back when I was a slave! I'm Kyra, by the way. Kyra Longfletch, Skipper o' River H'Otters. I've met Lucien."  
  
Claire stepped forwards, coughing importantly. Kyra laughed. "Oh, an' we can't forget you, can we, Cap'n? Everyone who doesn't know, this is Cap'n Clairethye of the Long Patrol from Salamandastron." Claire made an elegant leg to Swifteye and Lucien, winking broadly.  
  
"So I am, m'buckoes! When Lord MacThingummy, that great bloomin' eagle bird friend of yours, Kys, came to ask us for help, Lord Seastripe sent me out right away t'come and see if I could give you chaps a hand, eh wot!" Everyone except Sky laughed, though no one noticed.  
  
Skystar hopped forwards and stood next to the Ottermaids bed. "Sparra warriors and Goodmice fightum hard! We fight wormrats and wormweasels. We fightum good! But Leadworm Ferret, she no give up! She still fight! Allabrave, but badworm too! So, then big scaleworm with poisontooth came. Killed Wormferret! Bit her with poisonteeth. We kill alla other vermin."  
  
Kilt grinned sheepishly. "I might be able to explain that, Kys. Y'see, I was out in Mossflower. I slipped away from the battle after I found you. I hadn't seen you or Sky at all for a while, so I was startin' t'get worried. I found you shoved in some bushes and got you up here with MacPhearsomes help. Then, I saw some hare tracks leading into Mossflower. I'm no expert, but I thought that they might be Sky's. Even though I was wrong, I found her anyway. But it's a long story. I'll let Sky tell you later."  
  
Rhyna smiled and tucked the otter neatly back into her bed. "But, we're going to save that for tomorrow, you great lump of a riverdog. That ferret gave you quite a pounding! But, you got th' blighter. Now, you need to get to sleep, Kyra Longfletch!"  
  
Lavender nodded her agreement. "Yes. The Reguba is quite right, Skipper. You ought to be in bed restin' that sore head of yours instead of running about in all directions. Besides, you've got nothing to worry about right now. The vermin are dead."  
  
Raze laughed. "Sure, Kyra doesn't have anything to worry about, but the rest of us do! We're due for dinner after that battle soon, and the poor cooks are going to have to cater to an entire regiment of Clairethye's hares! All us poor abbeybeasts will be fighting again just to get a crumb!"  
  
Everyone laughed, even Claire.  
  
Meanwhile, far away, a certain Rat Warlord had finally recovered from the grievous injuries inflicted on him three seasons ago, and was preparing to go to Mossflower. He was searching for the creature that had almost taken his life. That creature was Kyra Longfletch.


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Seven**

As the clouds billowed over the afternoon sun, terrified dibbuns squealed as the elders took them by the paw, taking sanctuary in the Great Hall. The various cheeses and wines had been set out, many different dishes and bowls of salad, soup, pies, and cakes decorated the tables.  
  
On one side of the table, Kyra Longfletch sat next to Lucien Streambed on one side and Sky on the other. Kyra smiled and took a large bite of her mushroom paste before shoving the rest of it in her mouth and washing it down with Damson Wine. She then wiped her mouth neatly with a napkin, and used her fork and knife to cut up her fish into tiny pieces.  
  
She picked up a piece of her fish in her paw, and dipped it in her shrimp and bulrush soup. She lifted the morsel into her mouth, and licked her lips. After a little bit of chewing, she picked up her plate and scraped all of the fish piece into her soup, grinning over at Lucien. "Mmmm... this is good! Try puttin' some meat in yer soup, Lucien. T'will taste wonderful!"  
  
Lucien looked curiously at Kyra for a moment. Then he shrugged, doing as he was told. When he tasted the concoction, his eyes lit up. He took a swig of his strawberry cordial and grinned at Kyra. "'Tis wonderful, Kys! Mayhap it c'd be a new soup for the H'Abbey...hmm, I bet we could add a few more things in here..."  
  
Sky glanced up from her food and caught the eye of Kilt Fourclaw, who was sitting on the other side of her. The ferret grinned at her, hiding a snicker behind his paws. It was obvious that Kyra and Lucien were flirting. . . in their own odd way.  
  
The haremaid winked cheerily at the ferret and nodded towards Kyra, a grin flashing across her face. Quickly, she pulled out the notepad that she had carried with her everywhere since she had lost her voice, scribbling a message on it and tearing the sheet off before tucking it away. Acting completely innocent, she returned her attention to her pie, folding the note with one paw and slipping it beneath Kyra's goblet.  
  
Kyra grinned and nodded at Lucien. "We c'n experiment in th' kitchens t'morrow, Mate." She paused to pick up her goblet and take a drink of her damson wine, licking her lips after she took a long swig from it. She smiled, setting it down. It was only then that she noticed the piece of folded up paper. She picked it up, leaning over to Sky. "Is this yores, Sky?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at the note again.  
  
Kyra opened the slightly damp scrap of parchment and squinted at it, trying to read the smudged lettering. "'When's the Wedding?' I didn't know you had a boyfriend, Sky." She winked and took another sip of her soup. "Or is another friend o' yours getting married. I 'eard tell of no wedding. Tell whoever it is to invite me. I love weddings. They mean free food and cake!"  
  
Sky glanced up from her meal, raising an eyebrow, face the picture of innocence. She rolled her eyes sarcastically and took a bite of the slice of sweet nutbread that sat on her plate. The haremaid winked cheekily at the slightly angry and slightly amused Ottermaid before stealing the otter's glass for herself. Hers was empty.  
  
Meanwhile, on the other side of the table, a young ottermaid named Kestral sat eating in the company of Log-A-Log Rainne and RazorFang Ferret. Spotting the deeper n' ever pie, Kestral peered at it curiously, then added a slice of it to a plate already filled with various cheeses, nutbreads, an apple'n'pumkin flan topped with a dollop of meadow cream, and a helping of summer salad.  
  
Soon, the ottermaid had purloined a great big slice of Redcurrantwall Cake, and though she ate the slice with vigor, she still kept her eyes fixed on the Beetroot pie. Not able to stand the suspense any longer, the ottermaid scooped up the slice of pie in one paw and held it to her lips. Taking a cautious bite, her eyes lit up with surprise and delight.  
  
"Ooo, this is good! What is it?"  
  
Raze grinned, and took a slice himself. "Th' moles call it Deeper'N'Ever Turnip 'N Tater 'N Beetroot Pie," he told her, taking a large bite of the slice he held.  
  
Kestral took another large bite out of her own pie, grinning as a few crumbs of the cold pie fell down onto her chin. She stuck out a tongue and licked them off as Raze continued. "I call it 'Gone', though, if the moles and hares get at it before you get a slice!" Everyone within hearing range laughed.  
  
Hours later, the feast was starting to slow down. Kyra and Sky were in a heated argument about which foods were the best, but both were cut off by a loud BANG, as the door to Great Hall swung open. The entire hall was silent.  
  
Inside, through the open door, stepped a rat. Behind him were many, many more rats. All of them marched in to Cavern Hole, wet with the light rain that had started outside and all smelling horrible. Each rat carried an assortment of weapons, from spears and pikes to swords and longbows. Then, after a few silent moments of rats pouring into the large hall, all of the rats split into two ranks.  
  
In between the ranks, a shadow appeared. Then, a much bigger rat stepped through the door. His wild hair was braided many times, and he had more earrings than any of his soldiers. At his side was a golden saber, an emerald at his hilt. He smiled and stared at the assortment of beasts sitting at the table. His eyes fell onto one in particular.  
  
"So, we meet again, Kyra Longfletch . . ." Kyra stared, her eyes wide. This could only be a ghost! She had killed Mavarl years ago!  
  
The first rat to enter the room stepped forwards, scratching an ear and taking out a piece of parchment that had been hidden in the belt at his waist. He coughed importantly, and began to read. Of course, he couldn't really read, but he had memorized his speech.  
  
"These be th' terms of Mavarl the Tyrant. Surrender will be total and complete, no parleying. You will hand over th' otter female by the name of Kyra Longfletch to Mavarl without hesitation. You will surrender everyfin o' value in this 'ere place t'Mavarl, an' 'e will leave you un'armed. Mavarl 'as the right t'take any slaves from these beasts that 'e has conquered..."  
  
Sky jumped to her feet, eyes blazing with hatred. What was he doing here!?! Kyra had killed him! But no, this was Mavarl. She instinctively grabbed for her saber, only realizing that she had not kept it for the feast. Throwing caution to the wind, the perilous Sky bolted from her seat, charging the still speaking rat. The rat fell backwards, hitting his head with a sickening crack against the hard stone floor.  
  
Mavarl chuckled and stepped forwards, kicking at the carcass of the rat. "Skythistle Morningdew. I remember you, longears. One of the rebellion leaders, eh? You're lucky, Miss Morningdew. You weren't the one who tried to kill me, were you? I'm not interested in you, except as a hostage." He waved a paw, and three sturdy rats ran forwards and grabbed Sky.  
  
Mavarl laughed again. "You should be thankful. I have plans for you, Miss Morningdew. I'll be taking you back to the island now. You'll be a slave again, just like the old days before you and your idiotic friend interfered. Unless. . ." he said, slowly, annunciating every word, "there is a way for you to be saved, my dear."  
  
Kyra gulped, knowing what she had to do. She didn't pause when she stepped out of her seat, her bow in her paw. She knew shooting at Mavarl was pointless, the rat had obviously cooked up some sort of plan for that. There was only one way.  
  
She took a step forwards and extended two paws. "I know what you want, longtail. Me." Sky stared at her, dumbstruck. Her friend was such an idiot! She tried to call out, but no sound issued from her throat. "I was the one who almost killed you. You have to get your filthy army out of here. If you take any of these others. . . you don't want me killing myself before you've had your fun, do you?"  
  
Mavarl spat onto the stone floor and nodded. Of course, he didn't really care for any of these others. And his ship was only so big, too. There wouldn't be room for so many slaves. But it would be nice to watch Kyra's face if she saw her friends being tortured. He nodded, and waved a paw. Four rats stepped forwards, securing Kyra. A fifth picked up her bow and arrows.  
  
It was then that Lucien stood up, glaring at Marval, his eyes burning.. His chair fell backwards, clattering to the floor, a distant sound. "You take Kyra, and you take me," he said defiantly. Kyra felt her heart pounding inside her, her brain almost hurting. That idiot! She couldn't let him just turn himself in like that! Hadn't the fool seen that she hadn't used her bow?  
  
Mavarl cast his eye over Kyra, and then at Lucien. The expression on her face gave him an idea. That otter must have some sort of connection with Kyra. He smiled. He had promised not to take Sky, hadn't he? She had only slightly mentioned not taking other hostages instead. And then he would have the perfect creature to use against Kyra!  
  
He smiled, and seven rats, all bearing cutlasses ran forwards, surrounding Lucien, while four others came forwards, longbows all aimed at his head. Kyra gritted her teeth and glared at her friend. Didn't he know that this was the kind of thing Mavarl wanted? "Alright, Ruddertail. I'll take you too. Don't you realize that you are hindering Kyra more than helping her? Oh well, it was your choice. Let the haremaid free."  
  
The rats backed away from the winded Sky, and the seven secured Lucien. Mavarl smiled. Kyra was far from smiling. She had thought Lucien was smarter than that! Lucien glared at Mavarl. He knew Kyra would be mad at him for doing this, but that was a risk he was willing to take. The first time she was taken captive had left so many scars on her. If he could prevent even some of that, he would feel better.  
  
"It's a good thing you're taking my bow with you, Longtail," Kyra spat. "I'll need it and that golden arrow when I kill you. Or don't you remember? The arrow I pulled out of your flesh. I should have made sure I'd finished you then. Trust me, I won't make that mistake again, scum."  
  
Mavarl ignored her. "Insult me all you want, Longfletch, but I seem to have the upper paw now. Besides..." he smirked, casting Lucien a glance. "You don't want me to take out my anger on your friend here, do you?" Kyra was silent. The two were at a stalemate.  
  
It was then that Kestral the Otter did something drastic. Her feelings rising within her, the Ottermaid jumped up from her seat, picking up her slice of Deeper 'N Ever pie and tossing it over the table, where it landed with a sickening 'splat' on Mavarl's face! Everyone was silent as the sweet and sticky mixture ran down his face.  
  
Mavarl drew a paw slowly across his face, shocked at this behavior. The otterwench had dared to throw food at him? Ah well, he would teach her a lesson in pain that she wouldn't soon forget, if she survived it at all. The rat tried to mop his face with one paw while waving wildly with his other simultaneously to signal his guards. Kestral didn't move a muscle.  
  
Three guards ran forwards, sprinting until they reached Kestral. Raze jumped up from his seat too, jumping on top of one of them and trying to pull them off of the young ottermaid. The rats overpowered him, and Raze was soon knocked unconscious, as was the young Kestral. In a matter of moments, both senseless creatures were dragged over to Mavarl, who looked them over, nodding slowly.  
  
"Good. More bait for our waterhound friend, eh? Now, you lot, get out of this Abbey. We have what we came for, and we march now!" Then, with the four prisoners in tow, they left...  
  
Later that night, the wooden ship rocked back and forth on the waves of the rough sea. It had been a while since the rat warlord had taken his captives. Kyra was just coming too. Everything was pitch black. Her brown eyes scanned the dark, empty space. "Lucien?" she called, "Lucien? Where are you? Kestral? Raze? Where are you? Anyone?" She felt about, moving blindly in the darkness.  
  
Kyra looked about, though she couldn't see, desperately trying to find even one of the friends that she had gotten into this. Then, her paw met fur. Who was it? She moved her hands upwards until they connected with a shoulder. It was Lucien. She put her ear to his chest, listening for a heartbeat. It was faint, but beating.  
  
She grabbed his paw and dragged him in a different direction until her paw touched a wall. The shackles that Mavarl had put on her paws rubbed against her flesh. She leaned her friend against the wall, putting her head on his shoulder and lying down next to him, waiting for him to wake up. If only Raze and Kestral weren't dead, or worse. . . she had no idea what Mavarl would do to them.  
  
In some other distant corner, Kestral the ottermaid groaned and rolled over. Opening her eyes, she blinked once or twice in confusion. She put a paw to her face. Yes, her eyes were defiantly open, but she could see nothing. Where was she? The ottermaid frowned, trying to recall what had happened. Mavarl. Of course! He had come to take Kyra, and then she had thrown . . .  
  
Nearby, Raze groaned as well, starting to come round at last. Raising a paw to his throbbing skull, he heard the clink of chains, feeling the weight of shackles about his paws. A slave again! He had been a slave before, and didn't want to repeat the experience. He groaned again and Kestral heard him, dragging herself over to the ferret.  
  
"Raze? Is that you? Are you alright?" Kestral crawled in his direction, bumping into him in the dark. The ottermaid blushed, muttering unheard apologies to the Ferret and helping him to his feet as the two found a place near the wall, hoping to find Kyra and Lucien once they had their backs against something.  
  
Kyra pushed herself closer to Lucien, scared to leave him alone. Mavarl would probably kill him just to spite her. She sighed, and tried yet again to look through the darkness. "Kestral? Raze? You there? 'Tis Kyra! I'm with Lucien. 'E's still out. Kestral? Raze? Oh c'mon you stupid ferret, answer me. You got yerself into this. Least you c'n do is keep me from worryin'. Kestral! Raze! Are you here?"  
  
She gripped Lucien's paw, willing him to wake up, and listened, her ears perked. "Stupid yerself, Ruddertail!" Raze called, crawling dizzily towards his friend, still muttering. "Yew got us into this, Kyra Longfletch, yew and yer stupid idea of surrenderin' ter a searat. . ." Reaching her, he slumped back against the side of the hull. Kyra ignored him.  
  
"Shuddup, Raze. You were th' beast stupid enough t'go attackin' 'em. And Lucien here is stupider than ten of you put t'gether. I just hope he wakes up so I can tell him so, the great lump." Raze nodded wile Kestral followed the sound of their voices and slumped down beside them, sitting on the other side of Raze while Kyra stayed within touching distance of Lucien.  
  
Kyra put a comforting paw on Kestral's shoulder and squeezed. "Don' worry, Kessy. We'll all be fine. Sky'll be mad about all this, and the haremaid will send MacPhearsome, my eagle friend, to Salamandastron. He helped us to escape last time, and he'll do it again. And," Kyra added with a grimace, "I know Castle Fortguard back to front, though sometimes I wish I didn't know it so well."  
  
Kyra felt Kestral fall asleep beside her. She lowered her eyes. She should be doing something useful, but she was still weak and tired. The ottermaid wrapped her arms about Lucien's neck and fell asleep at his side, taking strength from his still unconscious form. She felt a spurt of sympathy for him. She hadn't meant for any of them to come along with her. This was her battle and hers alone.  
  
She closed her eyes, hoping that her sleep would not be interrupted by dreams. MacPhearsome would come. Sky would tell him what had happened, and he would come to her rescue. She prayed that it would work as smoothly as it had last time. She made herself comfortable against Lucien, praying that he would wake up before long, and went to sleep with Raze on her other side.  
  
Kestral's sleep, which lasted only a short while longer than the slumbers of her three companions, was by no means untroubled. Kestral half-woke with a start, eyes staring into the blackness, heart pounding. It was a dream, just a dream. But then she came fully awake, and memory returned. No, it was more than a dream, worse than a dream.  
  
The others were already awake, though they said not a word. Raze spoke first. "Aye, yore wid searats now. The nightmares're true. Yore best bet, Kestral, is to keep silent'n do wot they tells yer. B'lieve me, yew don't wanna disobey. Their way o' floggin' a beast'll scar yer for life." His own fur was thick enough and long enough to hide the scars, but, like Kyra's, his back was crossed with silvery lines.  
  
"Aye, Kestral, Raze speaks th'truth," Lucien said, sighing. "Scars are never a good thing," he said, wincing as he remembered the times in his life when he had been a slave.  
  
Softly, Kestral said, "Aye, I know 'tis true. I know. I only wish it weren't." After a bit she added- "Tis not m'self 'm worried about. Tis m'family. They might never find me. I was separated from them, you know. It was them I was dreaming about while I slept."  
  
"What 'appened, Kes?" Kyra asked, figuring this was as good a time as any to look into Kestral's past. After all, what else could they do in the fathomless dark other than talk to each other? Kyra's own family was gone, except for Ronil of course, and he was far away. Her mother had died giving birth to her two twin otterkits, and her father had died of grieving and self-hatred. They had both died because of her.  
  
Kestral was silent for a moment. "M'family and I were wanderers. There were- are - five of us. M'mom, m'dad, me, an' my little brother and sister, twins they are, by the name of Torby an' Sanga. My mother is a mapmaker, and my father a performer, so we drifted from here to there, never stayed in one place long. We stayed away from the coast, and so we had very little trouble with vermin an' the like.  
  
"What trouble we did have, mom could take care of with her staff, or dad with his sling. I was learning the skills of a mapmaker as well as the performer's art. Mother taught me the use of a staff, and dad was going t'make me m'own someday. It was early morning, just barely dawn. We had not posted a guard while we slept, and so we did not see or hear the vermin until it was too late.  
  
"A whole horde of them came upon us. I thought that something was wrong, but I didn't want to wake my parents. They all attacked us. My parents woke up. M'mum fended 'em off while m'dad protected Torby and Sanga. They seemed t'be alright. I was trying t'fight 'em with my paws, but there were hundreds of 'em! I was pursuing a rat who 'ad got hold of Sanga. I did not watch where I was going.  
  
"I ran into a low tree limb, and was knocked unconscious. When I awoke, they were gone, and so were any tracks they or the vermin might have left, for it had rained hard. It was the rain that woke me, I think. Many hours had passed. I do not have any idea as to where they are, or even whether they are alive or dead. My mother had told me of Redwall, and so that's where I went. You know the rest. "  
  
The others stared at her, not exactly sure how to respond. Kyra was the first to react, smiling down at Kestral benignly and comfortingly. "We understand, Kestral," she said, adopting a motherly tone. "We understand you perfectly. We've all had hard lives too. . . lives that can allow us t'empathize with yours. Seems many beasts have lives that they don't deserve."  
  
Lucien nodded vaguely. "Aye. I was a slave to King Moonshadow. He made my life a living hell. Seems that he had some sort of ancient grudge against my parents, Ingluene and Jackal Streambed. He tortured them and killed them, and I swore revenge. That was where I met Swifteye. I eventually killed the scum Moonshadow. One of the guards that I'd hated particularly, Silverblood the Ferret, escaped though. Hope she's dead now."  
  
Kyra and Raze both nodded. Raze hung his head slightly, shifting from footpaw to footpaw. He too had a secret past to reveal. "Was a corsair," he muttered lamely. "Fell in with an evil chap named Scraw. A vile searat, he was. We sailed on his ship. . . hated my parents, hated me, tortured me whenever he could. He killed m'sire after an argument. After I was born, he killed m'dam.  
  
"She was with child, me, when he wanted to kill her. But, he wanted me to torture, so he let her live long enough to give birth to me so 'e could turn me into his drudge. Stayed there most of me life. How I left. . . a long story. 'Nother time, perhaps. It's not pleasant. I'll find him one day, but I understand how you feel too. . ."  
  
It was then that the rats came. Not only rats, but foxes, weasels, ferrets, stoats, and all sorts of vermin ran down the steps towards the captives. Mavarl had thought that they might put up a struggle, but he had been wrong. And so, in the mob, the friends were carried away as the ship neared Castle Fortguard. Soon, they had been brought on deck and into the sunlight.  
  
It was then that Raze saw Scraw. The rat was older, but still himself: Large, muscular, carrying a whip. 'For me' Raze couldn't help thinking. That rat had a score to settle with his former crew member, and Raze was going to have to let him settle it. The two stared at each other, eyes locking. Both were oblivious to everything and everyone else.  
  
The ferret stared at the rat with shock written upon his face. He had just been talking about Scraw moments before, and here he was, in the flesh and blood! It was as if something magical had happened to bring him here. Raze snorted. If it was by magic that he met Scraw again, the magic certainly wasn't a good type.  
  
Kyra's eyes had at last adjusted to the sunlight, and she was able to see Castle Fortguard looming ahead of her, dark and forbidding. While Kyra's brown eyes were fixed on the castle looming before her, and Mavarl's eyes were fastened on her.  
  
After a while, the rat warlord turned his eyes away from his prisoner and waved a paw at his crew. "Aye, stir your stumps, you worthless crew of mottled dead and alive ragbags! Bring this ship into port! Lower anchor, and lower the sails too. We'll want to take the lifeboats in, while one of you takes this ship around to the cove."  
  
Nodding to his crew, they got the ship ready to sail into the bay as the other rats got onto lifeboats with the four remaining slaves. Lucien was shoved into a lifeboat opposite Kyra's. He stared straight over towards the Skipper, then to Mavarl, and back to Kyra again. A ferret had moved up next to him, staring at him with a vicious grin.  
  
"Aw, the poor lil' otterkit wants 'is girlfriend," she taunted. His widened as they swiveled towards her. His jaw dropped. Before he could say anything, she answered for her. "Tha's right, 'tis Silverblood," she sneered. "I'll make 'sure yeh get extra care 'round here," she said, grinning viciously. Lucien narrowed his eyes and kept defiantly quiet.  
  
Silverblood the ferret. Lucien was just as shocked as Raze was at seeing an old nemesis appear out of thin air. Apparently she had survived. She still wore her red bandana, as well as her black tunic and pants, torn and ripped, as well as bloodstained. Giant silver and gold hoops hung from her ears. "H'I thought that maybe by slitting yer throat I'd 'ave silenced yer foul tongue," Lucien spat.  
  
As the lifeboats pulled in to Castle Fortgaurd, Lucien was hustled out onto the shore by the ferret, awaiting orders from Mavarl. Kyra's ears perked up when she heard Lucien speaking and she swiveled her head around. Her eyes met his for a second and she saw him staring at the ferret with an all too familiar look on his face. In his face, she saw the ghost of a face she knew well, but hardly ever saw; her own.  
  
And so, they walked. After a little ways the small party had reached the slave compound. The ottermaid sighed, working even harder to control her emotions as she reached the Slave Compound and Mavarl reached to undo the lock on the door.  
  
"Welcome to yer new 'ome," Silverblood whispered harshly as she shoved Lucien forward by his back, awaiting the door lock to be undone. She would soon be flogging him, and he knew it. She would ask special request of Marval to do so. He would have to experience her wrath again, would have to re-live the nightmare with her.  
  
Raze padded up behind them, grinning cheerily. That was his strategy to annoy Scraw, looking as though he was enjoying his torture. "'Ome sweet 'ome, eh mates? Hoi, ratface, when're we gettin' fed?" Scraw snarled and spat at him, hitting him in the eye. Raze wiped the spit away without complaint, acting as if nothing had happened. He kept his grin on his face.  
  
Kyra pulled her own garments closer about her, though it was hot. She looked around, half expecting to see Sky amongst the slaves, her eyes burning, but she didn't see the haremaid at all. A few otters, a few hares, a few moles, and fewer voles and shrews. Most of the captives were hedgehogs and mice. They looked about, fearful, as if they were being watched.  
  
"H'I guess this lot 'as 'ad most of th' spirit broken out of 'em, Lucien," she murmured to the big male otter. "I got a few objections last time, but not too many. Not enough to slow us down or bother us. But, this lot doesn't look to 'appy about defyin' orders." Kyra took one more look at the slaves before whispering to Raze, Kestral, and Lucien, "We don't move 'till we see a sign from Sky an' the rescue party."


	22. Chapter Twenty One

**Chapter Eight**

Salamandastron. Home, or at least it once was. For now, however, home was this ship. A large corsair galley bobbed lightly on the ebbing tide, the tattered bodies of its former crew floating in the shallows. One lone creature was still aboard the ship. Woodshire, as a matter of fact.  
  
The Captain was thoroughly delighted with his new vessel, striding back and forth across the decks and complimenting to himself on what a marvelous 'find' this craft had been. It was a truly wonderful ship. It well built and made for speed even if it did need a few minor repairs. Now, if only Sky would meet him here as was planned.  
  
And then, almost as if Woodshire had summoned her by magic, Sky appeared. The haremaid stepped over a sand dune, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of the ship. She grinned and continues forwards; dropping the two packs she was carrying on the shore and wading into the shallows. She picked up her notepad and wrote in large letters so that Woodshire could read them from a distance: 'Lovely ship'.  
  
The haremaid had formed a rescue party as soon as the rats had left. MacPhearsome had been contacted, for he would again be needed as messenger. After all the necessary persons had been informed of their meeting place, Sky had gone out to seek one more creature. . . Woodshire. He, she knew, could get her a ship. He had, and on time as well.  
  
Then, flying down from the air above the boat, Skystar and some chosen Sparra warriors flew, landing neatly on the boat after circling a few times. The Sparra queen ruffled her feathers before fluttering across the deck of the boat, landing on a railing and shaking her head as the ship moved up and down on the waves. Sky grinned and scribbled another message on her pad: 'I thought you were guarding the abbey'  
  
Skystar ruffled her feathers again, an air of smugness about her. "Oh, Skystar has many wormwarrior. They stay, defend Abbey! Skystar take goodfightah warrior here to fight ratworm with abbeyfriends, you see? I leave other Sparra in charge, then I free come with you. Few Sparra, so boat no sink and we no have to fly." Sky nodded, understanding. How could Skystar stay behind on an adventure like this?  
  
Then, Sky saw more creatures coming from the borders of Mossflower Wood and crossing the sand dunes to meet them on the shore. Raivine and her Guosim Shrews had arrived at last. Woodshire, however, did not know who they were. He was just about to ask his daughter to enlighten him when a large female shrew with scruffy looking fur jumped up onto the ship, offering a paw for him to shake.  
  
"Raivine, Log-A-Log of the Guosim, at yer service," she said, grinning. "Can't let Kyra an' her matey's be slaves on that island. I felt we had t'help." A few other strong looking male and female shrews clambered aboard, laden with provisions. They were armed with shrew rapiers, as well as bows and arrows. Raivine herself had a shrew rapier in her belt. "And might I add we're good cooks."  
  
The shrew would have said more, but was interrupted by a loud calling from a small distance off. "Ahooooooy the ship! Are yeh goin' ta leave me and my maties all behind, eh?" Oblivious to what was unfolding on the deck, Rhyna, accompanied by a score of her own squirrel band, and a similar number of Kyra's own otters, came thundering along the sands, leaping pell-mell over the dunes.  
  
To the rear of the group, and larger than both squirrel and otter, another black tunic clad figure skimmed over the beaches with admirable agility. Whooping, Rhyna's band plunged into the blue ocean, with their Chieftain wading along at their head. Everyone was lost in the confusion of roaring waters for a moment, before Rhyna's head poked up over the ship's rail.  
  
Nimbly, she and her band hopped over the ship's side, with the otter crew sliding smoothly in behind them. The Squirrel Chieftain drew her blade swiftly, and twirled the sword in a salute. "Sorry we're a bit late. Picked up more reinforcements on the way, some o' Kyra's band." A black bandolier- style belt thudded to the deck, as the strange lithe figure hauled himself onto the ship.  
  
At this distance, even a half blind beast could see he was a wildcat, and an assassin at that. The range of daggers and poisons tucked into slots onto the belt saw to that and the great long bow over his shoulder added to the effect. A quiver full of arrows slid into view, as Delagor Shatarr bent to pick up his shoulder belt, carefully inspecting his poison pouches before slinging the strap over his shoulder.  
  
Tall and saturnine, he leaned back against the ship's rail, nodding silently to a random selection of creatures. Turning to gaze at her newfound ally, Rhyna felt some explanation was called for at his sudden appearance. "I think I have someone who could make a difference to any current plans ye may have." She said, her tail swishing back and forth as she spoke.  
  
"See the big wildcat beast? Well, you could hardly miss him. Anyway, picked him up along the way too. His name's Delagor Shatarr, good with those blades of his, and got a fair few poisons too. Mercenary assassin by trade, ye see. Well now, did not the nice beastie offer us his services? I was thinkin'; we could do with a spy in the enemy lines. D'you catch me drift?"  
  
Sky listened silently throughout the Reguba's thoughts, her lips slowly curving into a small smile. The self-appointed leader of the expedition nodded, her ears perking up as she wrote on her notepad. 'Bring him along. We might find some use for him'. Throughout this entire conversation, Delagor had been silent. He was not mute, but the warrior wildcat hardly ever spoke.  
  
Raivine stared as the number of the crew almost doubled. She nodded, and turned to Rhyna. She grinned. "We need all th'help we can get, Rhyna. My shrews and I'd be happy if you came along," she said, her grin broadening even more widely than before. Rhyna simply nodded again, grinning to herself as she watched her own crew going about their tasks with a will.  
  
Meanwhile, a long distance away, other creatures had missions of their own to complete.  
  
Salamandastron was unusually quiet. Normally, on a day like this the mountain was bursting with activity; Long Patrollers coming and going, the occasional visiting sea otters, leverets diving through the halls with stolen puddings, and older, retired beasts attempting to stop them. Yes, if anything, Salamandastron was never quiet. But today, it was. . .  
  
The mountain was nearly empty. Almost all of the Patrols were out, and those that were left had gone with the old ones and leverets down to the seashore. Redwallers, you see, weren't the only ones who celebrated the new season. The entire mountain had turned out for a feast on the beach, which would probably last until dawn's light, knowing hares. The whole mountain, save six.  
  
Five hares waited in complete silence just outside of a large closed door. One, a young haremaid with brilliant red-gold fur, was dozing against the wall with head slumped down on her knees. Two others, a huge dark brown hare and a slightly smaller tawny-brown, paced impatiently, passing each other as they reach the door.  
  
The remaining two, a chocolate brown maid with cream colored splotches and a rather calm looking lad who's gold-white fur set him off drastically from the others, quietly waited on a bench, staring across the hall towards the door.  
  
The tawny hare growled, slamming his fist into the wall. His face was the picture of impatience and disappointment. "Why's it taking so long? He should be out by now!"  
  
The golden haremaid glared up at him, shocked out of her nap. "Drop it, Dunner. We're all just as bored as you are."  
  
Dunner shot her a glare before sighing and slumping down between the other two hares. "He has t'let us go. Why shouldn't we? 'E can't stop us."  
  
"Th'Colonel c'n do whatever he wants," mumbled the spotted maid, eyes still trained on the door.  
  
"That's never stopped us b'fore," Dunner stated matter-of-factly.  
  
The group broke out in strained laughter at Dunner's comment. "I suppose we could just leav-" The golden furred maid started to say before being cut off as the door slowly swung open. A sandy brown hare stepped out, smiling faintly. He raised a white splashed paw, holding off any questions.  
  
"I've got good news, an' bad news. Th' good news is that he said we c'n go!" The hares instantly jumped to the feet, cheers ringing through the abnormally hollow mountain. Tal smiles sadly, waiting a while before continuing. "The bad news: We can't leave 'til next season."  
  
It was at that moment that a thin, lanky female hare strode out of the mountain. She was rather pretty, with light creamy fur and hazel eyes. It was, of course, Cap'n Clairethye, more commonly known as Cap'n Claire, or just Claire to her friends and superiors. She grinned and winked at the group, knowing what they were thinking about before they told her.  
  
"Missin' th' Cap'n, are you, m'dears? Th' feast just doesn't seem fun without her, does it? So am I, doncha know! Our Sky's been gone at th' bally Abbey for a long time now. But alot's been going on lately."  
  
There was silence. She grinned at Tal, who looked especially gloomy, and gave him a wink. "Oh, chin up, laddie buck! Sharps th' word an' quicks th' action, eh wot? Why don't you an' your pals all head over t'Redwall an' give your pretty Meadowsong a visit? She should be there now, doncha know!"  
  
Tal threw a flourishing bow to his superior, stepping past the others to meet her. "Wish we could, marm. Just been t'ask th'Colonel. 'E said we had t'wait a bit first." Tal turned, striding to sit with his other three comrades. "He seems t'think she'll be back any day now, an' doesn't want us goin' all th'way t'Redwall for no reason."  
  
The golden haremaid suddenly jumped up from her position, landing just in front of Claire, radiating a sense of childlike innocence. "Per'aps you could change his mind, Cap'n? We'd really like t'go. There's really no reason f'us t'stay here. Th' Colonel won't let us go t'visit Sky, or even go on Patrol for another season! Doesn't trust us."  
  
Cap'n Claire grinned and waggled her ears, taking a few steps forwards. "Well... I s'pose there isn't any harm in trying, is there? Otherwise... I think I could convince the Colonel to send you young lot Patrollin' instead of mopin' about the mountain. I know y'said he wouldn't let you go patrollin', but maybe I can let him at least do that if I can't change his mind entirely, an' you can nip up to Redwall."  
  
The light creamy furred haremaid smiled mischievously, giving them a wink. "But, only as a last resort mind. If th' Colonel finds out I've done this, he'll cut of m'head an' hang it over th' fireplace in th' Dining Hall! I'm sure you'll put some food in me mouth if he does, won't you? I'd be starvin' without any tuck, eh eh!"  
  
She put a finger to her lips and winked. "Well, I'll jus' nip up to th' Colonels office, shall I? I'll get him to let you all go patrollin' at the least. At least, I bally hope I will! For you lot as well as fer me. Pity I can't come with you. Tell her hello, an' give her a hug from me. An' make sure to bring her back here." The Captain waggled her ears comically before striding back through the door that she had just exited.  
  
The Colonel's office looked much like a cross between an office building and the Badger Lord's forge. Weapons of all shapes and sizes covered the walls, ready to use at a moments notice. Tussock was sitting at a desk on the other end of the room, gazing absentmindedly out of the window. Tussock looked up as the door opened, smiling slightly when he recognized the figure entering.  
  
"'Ello Clairethye! Didn't expect t'see you here. Why aren't y'down at the feast? I was goin' t'come but..." He trailed off and shrugged, glancing past her out the door. "They've left then?"  
  
Clairethye nodded emphatically. "Aye, an' th' blighters weren't to happy t'go, Colonel, sah! They were a right sorry bag of ragamuffins, if I do say so meself, Colonel Sah! I know you won't let 'em go up to Redwall, Colonel sah, but could it hurt to let 'em go out on Patrol? I mean, they're stubborn hares, I'll admit that, but do you really think that they'd disobey you t'go up to Redwall?"  
  
"Do stop y'whining, Captain. I know y'want 'em t'go. We all want 'em t'go! Haven't been this much trouble since they were levrets! Bah, now you've made me feel old. Back t'th'subject. I can't keep them here forever, Clairethye. Soon enough they'll leave whether I say they can or not. I just need t'stall 'em a bit. Can't have 'em goin' yet. I'll let 'em go soon. Just waitin' f'Skythistle t'get back."  
  
It was then that there was a loud and firm knock on the door. Clairethye muttered and walked towards the door, a bit angered at the interruption. "Oh, come in, whatever y'want, chap! But I'm warnin' you, m'laddo whoever you are, th' only person that I wouldn't give a sound tannin' to for interruptin' H'Officah Buisness is th' bally badger lord 'imself!"  
  
MacPhearsome clacked his beak, stepping through the door. "Och, weel nau, lassie, won't ya make an exception for your fav'rite h'eagle?" Claire grinned, waggling her ears and standing up, giving the bird a swift salute.  
  
"Oh, come now, MacPhearsome. You've got to have some sort o' reason that your here, eh wot! Right, ol' chap. Out with it! You wouldn't spend a moment with the crazy leverets outside if it wasn't unavoidable. What d'you want m'good sah?"  
  
The Eagle bowed his head. "Ah've come t'ye wi' a wee liddle message from Sky, Clairethye. Kyra's been taken by Mavarl. Th' rat came stormin' int' Great 'All an' captured 'er an quite a few other beasties. Sky's arranged it all, I b'lieve. They're goin' to head off, but they'll waiting for you an' th' Otters from Ruddaring tah come wi' larger forces soon after."  
  
And so, MacPhearsome told the two head officers of Salamandastron about the situation.  
  
The first night on Fortguard was as hot as any other western eventide. Kestral was curled up in a corner nearby Kyra, who was sleeping in between Raze and Lucien, who were a few good feet away from her on either side. The otter wrapped her arms around herself, not to keep out a physical coldness, but to shield her tender flesh from a mental coldness that was as sharp as the bitterest winter storm.  
  
Suddenly, the ottermaid felt a grip as hard and icy as stone grab her shoulder. Kestral jumped and tried to let out a shrill scream of terror, only to be silenced by a similar paw over her lips. Kestral struggled slightly, only to be held even more firmly by the pair of paws that had grabbed her. Now, there was a touch on the back of her neck and the grip on her shoulder had loosened.  
  
Then, the ottermaid felt something near her ear. She didn't move, frozen with terror and dread. Then, voice whispered in her ear, and the ottermaid's eyes flicked towards the sounds. The voice was a low growl, and the pair of eyes that she saw stare back at her made her heart skip a beat. The eyes continued to stare at her, boring into her flesh. Kestral shuddered, but could not dispel the strange grip upon her.  
  
"Tell me," the voice said, carrying a sense of urgency in it's soft but harsh tones, "what is your name." His grip loosened on her mouth as she spoke, allowing her enough room to speak. "Don't scream," he said swiftly, allowing his paw to drop from her lips and back to his side. "I mean you no harm," the figure added to reassure her. "Now, young kit, tell me your name. I must know."  
  
Kestral licked her dry lips, parting them to speak. She tried to utter a sound, to speak her name so that the attacker would not grab her again, but her throat would not make the necessary noises. The creature grunted with impatience, snorting slightly. Kestral tried again to speak and again failed.  
  
The figure grew impatient. "Just tell me," he said in a low and calm voice, "if your name is Kestral Riversplash. Just tell me if that's your name, kit. Was the name of your Dam Rael? And-" he paused, almost choking, "your Sire? Who was he?" Kestral was shocked. She couldn't speak for several moments.  
  
"My Dam was named- is named- Rael. My Sire was Brindor Silverback. But how in Great Seasons you found that out is beyond me." A shaft of moonlight came down from a hole in the rafters, spreading its soft brilliance over the features of Kestrals strange visitor. He was an otter, old with graying fur and with bright blue eyes.  
  
The strange old and grizzled otter had the look of one who had once been very handsome indeed, but who, in old age, had lost most of his good looks. Kestral could guess that he had spent many seasons in slavery. The otter's face was lined with premature wrinkles and the fur that had obviously once been sleek and brown was now gray.  
  
It wasn't just the strange otter's body that was different either. He was like the other slaves now. All slaves shared one thing with each other: their eyes, the look in their eyes that never left them even after they were freed. Their eyes held the look of the hunted, of the weary creature who can never completely rest, the creature for whom the only escape from pain is death.  
  
This look never leaves them. It was a look that still covered the eyes of Kyra Longfletch, dimming their brown. It was a look that could be seen in the eyes of Lucien Streambed and Razorfang to this day. It was a look that never left, and that no healer could find a cure for.  
  
Kestral stared at a face and body that she knew and that she did not know. A face that was familiar, and yet different. It was a face that held love, and a face that held something Kestral had never seen in it before- fear. Kestral looked up at him, not sure what to say. She could only manage one phrase. "Hello father."  
  
After these two words, the big male otter scooped his long-lost daughter into his arms and let her cling to him, pressing her against his sturdy form. Both of the cried, tears streaming down their faces. Kestral buried her face in her father's shoulder, crying into the hollow of his neck, unable to breathe properly or speak.  
  
Later that night Raze, Lucien, Kyra, Kestral, and Brindor were all huddled in a corner, trying to plan a meeting in which Brindor would be able to convince the other slaves to rebel with him. Not knowing anything about performers or strolling players or the like, Raze just shrugged and settled into a corner of the compound while the others gathered closer around him.  
  
"First of all," Kyra said, "we'll have to think of how to rouse them up into Rebellion. This lot doesn't look very promising. If you've seen the looks in their eyes, you'd know. It's a look we're all familiar with. It's strong in this lot. Mavarl must be cracking down hard on them."  
  
"I s'gest Brindor Silverdance does the talking," she continued. "He's a performer and all, and would do it best. The guards'll probably doze off sometime tonight. All I need to do is keep a lookout 'n make sure they don't wake up. Well, friend? D'you have any past experiences that might 'elp?"  
  
Brindor chewed his lip thoughtfully. He wasn't really suited to planning and organizing and such... He was an actor, and used to having a script with everything all worked out before hand. Yet here were all these creatures looking to him to convince the slaves to rebel. He wasn't sure he'd be able to, and began to say as much. "I'm a performer by trade, not a leader or a fighter. I'm not sure I-"  
  
But before the otter finished his sentence, Kestral's eyes lit up, and she jumped to her feet. "O' course you can! O' course you can. Who better than a performer to sway audiences with words alone? I've seen creatures after you've worked with them. They come away a bit dazed, feelin' as though they 'ad been part o' the story."  
  
Her father frowned, still not convinced. "Yes, but those are creatures who come expectin' to be taken up in the story, creatures who willin'ly let themselves be convinced. You've never been a slave before, m'dear. You don't know these creatures. Their spirits are all but gone." Kestral shook her head impatiently.  
  
"That doesn't matter. Think of it as a challenge." Looking him straight in the eye, she added slowly, "if anybeast can do it, it's you, Da."  
  
Kyra nodded slowly. "C'mon, Brindor. I know that this seems a lot, but it's possibly the only chance you an' yore daughter'll get to find yore mate and kits. Besides, wouldn't you rather die a hero and a fighter than a submissive wretch? Wouldn't you do that for all these poor creatures?" She gestured about, paws pointing at all the thin, ragged woodland slaves.  
  
With a sigh, Brindor nodded. "Yer right. Not much I can say against an argument like that. I've also got just the speech to do it. It's from one of my plays, y'know, a rather good one. It fits the situation almost exactly." His eyes got a faraway look in them as the mahogany furred otter's mind drifted off to prepare for the monolog he was to perform.  
  
Kyra, without even asking whether Brindor was ready for immediate action, went to rouse the slaves. It did indeed take a while, but she managed it. The slaves were so used to obedience that they would obey even her without question. Very few objected. When the captives had settled, and Kestral's father had their attention, he began.  
  
"Friends, fellow woodlanders, I see here before me a sorry state of affairs. . ." Voice gaining strength and confidence as he spoke, Brindor preformed as he had never preformed before. It did not take much acting for the otter to be convincing, because he truly believed, and deeply felt, the words he spoke.  
  
Brindor spoke on, adjusting a word or phrase here or there, to better match the situation, but taking the body of the monolog from a play he knew well. Excited whispers passed among the slaves. Brindor concluded his monolog. Kyra kept her lookout, though every word of Brindors speech went into her brain. She was very pleased indeed.  
  
"Some of you may have no memory of a home or family, but I am here to tell you that there is such a thing as a better place then here. Those of you who do remember- don't you miss the green grass? The changing seasons? The open air? If we work together, we can have freedom. It will be difficult- you all know that already. But we have to try. We must fight for our freedom."  
  
If there had been no guard at the door to be roused, the slaves would have applauded loudly enough to send the roof collapsing in on them.


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

**Chapter Nine**

The sun was sinking lower and lower in the Western Horizen, and a very large ship was sailing towards it. Many creatures ran about, doing various chores. There were also the Sparra who, it seemed, had not taken well to sea life at all. The entire ship was not really under the command of anybeast. Rhyna, Sky, and Raivine all seemed to take command. Skystar was too sick to participate.  
  
The scrape of wood against wood, the snapping of rope and the splash of seawater told a story of it's own to those observant enough. Delagor was not in the crows nest as usual, but had cut loose the small rowboat that was on the side of the ship to seek Fortguard and Mavarl, as he had promised.  
  
A small rowing boat bobbed into view to the aft of the port side of the ship. Seated on the middle plank was the enigmatic wildcat, an oar to each paw. He seemed to have no fear of the water as any normal wildcat should. Fear was an unknown beast to him. Stowed for'ard were both his saber and bandolier-style belt, lest sea-water spoil them both.  
  
"Aye aye, ol' Delagor's off then." Rhyna strode towards the ship's rail, watching as the wildcat skillfully maneuvered his boat towards the island. She watched as he rowed off into the distance, nervous tension clutching at her stomach. Hopefully, all would go well.  
  
The last light of day was just fading as the Unnamed Ship nosed onto the shore. They had landed in a small cove around the north side of the island, completely sheltered from any sight of the castle. The only way there was any chance of them being spotted was perhaps by a scouting party, but those were rare, as most 'visitors' were seen far before they reached land.  
  
With a soft splash, Sky was overboard, wading silently through the shadows and onto the shore. She pulled out her notepad, and jotted a note on it, leaving it on the railing where it would obviously be found by Somebeast. 'Stay here and set up camp. I'll see if I can get in touch with Delagor.' Without another word she set off away from the shore.  
  
What appeared to be a mass of bedraggled brown feathers rose from the deck and landed on the shore, proving to be the pitiful band of Sparra Warriors that had accompanied Skystar on her journey to Fortguard. Now, all of the Sparra were quite seasick. Small birds were not meant to travel over great distances, and this had just been proved.  
  
Feeling better, but not recovered enough to be interested in food, Skystar fluttered onto a rock and gazed out at the grey-blue sea - the sea she will have to cross if she wanted to get back to Redwall. Suddenly she noted a blur on the horizon, which disrupted her gloomy train of thought. A sail. The little Sparra Queen opened her beak to let out the call that would arouse the others on the ship  
  
"Little wormship! Skystar see little wormship, far 'way. Allbeasts look. Is bad wormship?" Soon, Rhyna and almost everybeast with the exception of Sky had jumped off the ship and waded over to the sand near the cove that they had landed in.  
  
Cap'n Clairethye stood at the prow of the ship she had been granted by the Colonel. The haremaid had been allowed to take her entire regiment of hares for this particular mission, which might not have been a good thing for the Ruddaring Otters.  
  
Lord Ronil had been collected by the gallant haremaid and her ship full of gluttons, and had eagerly agreed to come with them to rescue his baby sister yet again from Mavarl. He had also willingly allowed a great number of his otters to accompany him. The band of tough looking male and female sea otters each carried the traditional double pointed javelins of their race, and all were heavily tattooed with blue lines.  
  
Though Ronil had agreed to come, he had not so eagerly agreed to share Ruddaring's hospitality with the hares. The gluttons had eaten and eaten and eaten for almost the entire night! Those long eared bottomless pits had almost eaten everything in the otter's larders! So Ronil had forced them to continue the very next day without letting them stay long enough for any other meal besides breakfast.  
  
In a ship full of hares and otters, it was rather unlikely that anybeast could possibly sneak aboard. Unlikely, but not impossible. The hares of Sky's Patrol had been banned from the voyage. Well, not really. They hadn't exactly known about it. This didn't stop one from coming.  
  
Dunspur Sandflay, commonly known as Dunner, popped up beside the Captain, knowing by this time that they couldn't possibly send him home. He winked sideways at Clairethye before turning his eyes to the island in the distance.  
  
The hares had drawn lots to make sure that one of them would have been left behind to plant false clues around Salamandastron so that their ware abouts wouldn't be discovered. In reality, the band had set off for Redwall, sneaking off in the night despite the Colonel's protests. But of course, Dunner had drawn the short lot. Though he had complained long and loud about it, he had.  
  
And so, determined not to stay cooped up in Salamandastron leaving false clues so that his band of friends wouldn't be found, he had climbed aboard the ship when Clairethye had left. As long as the Cap'n didn't see him, he had been easily able to stay hidden. The other hares had simply assumed that he had been selected to come on the journey to get him out of trouble.  
  
But now, Dunner had to tell Claire that he was here. How else was he going to get more food than what he could steal from the kitchens? Claire stared in shock at Dunner, ears sticking straight up in the air and gray eyes opened as wide as they would go as if she had seen a ghost.  
  
When the Cap'n spoke, it was softly, and with slight stutters mixed into it. "Duh-du-Dunner? Whatcha d-do-doin' here, laddie buck? Y'sp-s'po-s'posed t'be back at th'mountain with the others. . . how did y- why are y- What the hell, lad, how did you get on this damn ship, soldier! Speak now, before I find some way of cartin' you home, an' believe me, young'un, I will!"  
  
The tawny hare simply rolled his eyes, sending a smirk towards Claire. "Lighten' up, Captain. Y'couldn't possibly 'ave expected me t'stay at Salamanthingy with m'Patrol gone, eh? An' I already know y'can't send me home. There's no reason to, after all." By this time the light was fading. Dark came quickly on the ocean, which actually worked out rather well, considering it would help conceal their position.  
  
Claire growled at the long patrol hare, eyes narrowed. "Aye, your right there, young'un, but that doesn't mean I can't punish you for seasons t'come, sah! I'll make sure you do double cleanin' duty, an' you'll be plate scraper until further notice. . . every night! An' another thing, what d'you mean your bally patrol's gone? They should be at Salamandastron. Unless. . . you don't mean they came along too?"  
  
Dunner shook his head. "'Course not, marm! They're well on their way to Redwall by now. S'pose you haven't heard. They snuck off a fortnight 'afore we left, wot! I was s'posed to stay behind with an injury. But," he winked cheerily, "I couldn't resist bein' away from your pretty face, Cap'n." Claire was not soothed.  
  
Claire rolled her eyes. There was nothing she could do, after all. "Fine, Dunner. You c'n stay, m'laddo. But believe me, once we get back to Salamandastron, I'll find a suitable punishment f'you, young rip! An' don't doubt it!" Dunner gulped. Claire was very, very good at dolling out punishment.  
  
Meanwhile, on the shore, Raivine had told her shrews make no fire, for fear of attracting attention to their party. The cry of "Ship!!" rang in her ears, she swiveled her head towards the horizon. There, drawing closer by the second, was a ship coming towards the beach. She faced it grimly, looking up towards a rock above her.  
  
MacPhearsome sat perched atop it. The shrew stared in wide eyed shock at the Great Golden Eagle, mouth hanging open. "Ma-MacPhearsome? What're you doin' 'ere?" was all she could say. The eagle stared at her calmly through his two great tawny eyes. He tilted his head, and Raivine smiled.  
  
Obviously, the ship that had just arrived contained Claire and Ronil, as well as their hares and otters. That would be useful. Without saying anything else, she went to tell the others who was on the mysterious ship that was approaching with alarming swiftness. It was at this moment that the ship gently nosed into the shore.  
  
Hares and otters immediately began to disembark, tossing supplies to the beach, some already setting up camp around the already existing one. Within a relatively short amount of time, the ship was empty, and the camp on the shore had grown considerably.  
  
Small smokeless campfires now dotted the beach, each surrounded by a small group of creatures who talked softly as they fixed their meals. The conversation topics were purposely light and carefree. Nobeast really wanted to talk about the coming rebellion. War wasn't ever a pleasant topic to talk about, and everybeast was already worn to a frazzle from the long journey.  
  
It hadn't taken Skythistle long to return to the shore. She had simply gone off to go and think. The haremaid snorted at her own thoughts. She was becoming more and more like Woodshire as she grew older. Here she was, Sky the Long Patrol Captain, brooding like her father. She brooded over many things. Over going home, mostly. How the hare ached for Salamandastron!  
  
"Skkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkky!"  
  
The haremaid had barely stepped foot inside the camp before she was tackled to the ground by a speeding blur of tawny fur. Wincing slightly, she shoved the now-laughing creature off her, climbing to her feet and dusting off her tunic. "Dunner? What th'flippin' 'eck are you doin' here? The others aren't here, are they? Bloody 'ell, I told 'em not t'let you come!"  
  
The tawny hare frowned slightly and jumped to his feet, grinning as he threw an arm around Sky's shoulders. The two grinned at each other momentarily before Dunner spoke. Even though he had not seen Sky for a very long time indeed, it felt as if the two hadn't been parted even a day. "Aww, c'mon Captain, surely you're glad t'see me? An' no, if it make y'feel any better, th'others aren't here."  
  
"Y'shouldn't 'ave come, Dunner," Sky mumbled, but she couldn't help but grin slightly as the tawny hare steered her towards the camp fire that had been built. She had missed her entire patrol, and couldn't entirely blame Dunner for wanting to come along for an adventure. "But all th'same, 'tis good t'see you. How're things at th'mountain? It's been a while since I've been back."  
  
"Not much has changed," Dunspur shrugged, absentmindedly stirring the stew which was boiling on the fire with a nearby ladle. "A couple new promotions, few new recruits; nothin' worth mentionin'. Tal took th'Patrol down near Redwall not long b'fore we left." For a moment the tawny hare scowled slightly, then laughed, winking. "Which is why 'm here. Made me stay b'hind."  
  
The conversation went back and forth, changing subjects a thousand times before it's end. Eventually Sky yawned, standing and setting her bowl (which had previously been filled with stew) aside. The haremaid stretched out languorously on the ground, eyes fluttering. It was getting late after all, and they would need all the rest that they could get in the near future.  
  
"I'm goin' to turn in, Dunner," the haremaid said with a grin. "G'night. And I'm glad that you came."  
  
Noisy seabirds wheeled and called to one another as a small rowing boat beached itself upon the sands. Delagor Shatarr shipped the oars of the borrowed vessel, locking them in their proper place by use of wooden catches. Rummaging about in the bottom of the boat, he came up with his bandolier belt and its poisons, a quiver-full of black fletched arrows, and a fearsome longbow.  
  
He flicked the belt over his head, twitching it until it ran diagonally across his chest, before slinging the quiver and longbow over the same shoulder. The saturnine wildcat leapt neatly over the boat's side, creating a small flurry of sand as he landed. Delagor's banded tail twitched constantly as he dragged the boat further up the tideline for a short distance before halting and shading his eyes with a paw.  
  
Any wise horde leader would be having his territory watched; therefore, it was quite likely that somebody would find him. Delagor sat down nonchalantly upon the nearest boulder to await the inevitable. Delagor didn't know how right he was.  
  
A rat sentry watched as the boat slowly rowed in. Drawing a blade, the rat relaxed slightly upon seeing it was a wildcat. Of course, wildcats were dangerous, but it wasn't an armed woodlander. And so, feeling a surge of confidence, he stepped forwards, blade still drawn, eyes locking with the stripecats. "What d'yer want, cat? Know that yer on th' land of Mavarl, Rat Warlord o' this island."  
  
Almost as quickly as he had sat down, Delagor arose to his well-muscled hinds, calmly returning the rat's stare. He folded his forelimbs, leaving the thick, heavy saber at his side much in evidence, along with the rest of his arsenal. Not moving from his place, Delagor replied in the soft, clipped tones for which he was known.  
  
"I'm well aware of that, rat. I wish to speak to Mavarl." The rat wasn't entirely surprised. This had been known to happen before. And so, the rat decided to let the wildcat have his way. Besides, he thought, scratching his ear with a grungy claw, he would probably kill him if he refused and go up to find Mavarl anyway. Why risk his life? He could simply let the cat have what he wanted.  
  
"Alright then," the rat said, pointing with a paw towards the great fortress that stood in the center of the island. "Th' chief's up in there. I'll bring yer fer an audience in 'is throne room. That agree with you?" Something of a thin smile etched itself across Delagor's features, giving him a sinister look; the look of one who would put up with no nonsense. Good little rat for agreeing with his wishes.  
  
"Perfectly."  
  
This one word answer was all that the assassin needed to utter. His paws left larger-than-average prints in the soft sand as he started forwards, though these tracks were soon obliterated by the wind. Well, that was phase one completed. Gaining an audience with Mavarl had been easier than he might have hoped for. Next, it was a case of trying to gain a place in the horde.  
  
He imagined that there couldn't be very many wildcats within Mavarl's horde; perhaps this would count as a mark in his favor. Wildcats were generally known as decent fighters and cunning beasts. Of course, Delagor was certainly not being conceited, merely tactical. And if Mavarl was all he was cracked up to be, the wildcat would need his wits and as many good points as he could get on his side.  
  
Inside Mavarl's throne room, the rat sat on his throne, his crown on his head. Of course, it wasn't nearly as fine as the one Kyra had stolen from his body, but it would do until he got his old one back. It was then that the door to the throne room opened. Instantly alert, the rat guards around him jumped up, spears in their paws and eyes fixed on the door as a rat, followed by a sinister looking wildcat stepped in.  
  
The rat sentry stepped forwards, bowing low before speaking to Mavarl. "Milord Mavarl, I foun' this stripecat over by th' western shore. Sailed 'ere in a rowboat. Suppose t'was from some sort o' shipwreck. Well, I went up to 'im, an' 'e said 'e wanted an audience with you..." the rat stuttered slightly, not sure of what to say next.  
  
Mavarl nodded, eyeing the cowardly sentry, and then the wildcat. The rat spoke in a calm voice, one that was soft and low, and held a note of a threat in it. He spoke without accent, as did the wildcat. Both beasts were intelligent, sophisticated, and deadly.  
  
"Well, my friend," the rat said, eyeing the cat from top to bottom, "tell me why you have come to join my horde, if I'm not too bold in asking. Were you, perhaps, shipwrecked? Obviously you arrived in a boat that was small. Any larger ship would have been spotted long before. A longboat, perhaps?"  
  
Delagor's eyes roved around the room the minute he entered, perhaps weighing up the situation, shifting his gaze from one sentry to another, before leaving it to settle upon Mavarl himself. His long shadow wavered as he stepped forwards, level with his rat escort.  
  
He kept his eyes fixed upon Mavarl as the rat went through his small introductory speech. Agile as ever, his mind broke down everything the rat was saying; some of it may prove useful. Having been shipwrecked, for example.. Shipwrecked would do for an alibi.  
  
"It is as your rat surmised. I was indeed shipwrecked; I stand before you as the only survivor. Tales of you and your mighty horde had inevitably reached our crew, and it was a stroke of luck for myself, landing upon your island. Now I seek a place within your horde."  
  
Mavarl surveyed the wildcat. An assassin, obviously, considering his tools. His story seemed entirely plausible, and possibly could have been the truth. The wildcat would be a valuable asset to the horde. He was obviously a trained warbeast. But, he would have to take precautions to make sure that he was truly loyal.  
  
"Well, cat, your story touches my heart," the rat said, smiling slightly. "Even if your story isn't true, I know that the part about wanting to join my horde is. Otherwise, you wouldn't have come. I see from your tools that you are an assassin, and by your appearance that you are a trained warbeast.  
  
"Even if the only thing you've given me thusfar is some ludicrous fabrication, it was a good one. Simple and easy to remember. You obviously know how to lie very well. I'm impressed. You'll get the place you asked for. You'll be staying with this sentry here, though. At least until you prove your loyalty to me. And don't think I won't have other eyes open."  
  
"A fair enough movement." Again, the thin smile was etched upon Delagor's facade, causing his whiskers to twitch ever so slightly. He glanced sideways out of the corner of his eye at the rat sentry. He didn't appear much of a threat. The slight smirk had long since vanished from his face, as the formidable wildcat stood at ease, awaiting his dismissal. The rat warlord waved a paw for the wildcat to leave.  
  
When Raze awoke that morning, he immediately wished that he hadn't. It was the same routine. Get up, get out of bed, get your scythes, and accustom yourself to bleeding hands and the hypnotizing swish, swish of the crescent shaped blade. He sighed, not wanting to think about the day ahead. But the day was determined to come.  
  
Before he even knew it, Raze was out on the fields, avoiding kicks from guards. However, there was a spark of hope. Kyra gripped the scythe in her paws, half whistling a tune through parched and dry lips. She hummed a bit. An old otter stream song. It had a pretty tune, minor and sad in key, but ended in a major chord, and lifted up the spirit.  
  
Her paws even felt slightly better after having convinced Brindor Silverdance to talk to the slaves and convince them to rebel. Now, they just needed a message from the rescue party that had to be somewhere out there to start. Raze cocked his head at Kyra's humming, absently trying to follow the tune even as he gave her a warning glare.  
  
Lucien grinned lightly at the small tune passing through the air, but it subsided slightly as it brought back memories of a tune he had once heard his mother sing to him. The swish of his scythe slowed until it was barely moving. The mystical song flew through his ears as though he'd known it all along. The days are cold, the nights are long,  
  
The north wind sings a doleful song,  
  
So hush again upon my chest,  
  
All merry things are now at rest,  
  
Save thee, my pretty love... He knew that was not the end, but just hearing his mother's voice made tears come to his eyes. He blinked them back, for he knew Silverblood was watching him. He quickly regained his pace, the blood dribbling down the shaft of the scythe not seeming to matter anymore. After all, he had a little calluses built on his hands.  
  
But now he was humming, very softly, almost inaudibly, the tune that he had just remembered. He even murmured a few of the words to himself as he went along. He missed his family so much. He wished he knew more about them. He had only been with them for such a short time. .. such a short time. . .  
  
Kyra stopped humming as she heard Lucien start humming as well, but as she listened, the tune was unfamiliar. Even though Kyra was a warrior, she had always enjoyed music. It brought certain liveliness to the soul, and she could just see a tear on Lucien's cheek. She swung her scythe closer to him, listening as he hummed the tune again, for she couldn't hear it if she was too far back.  
  
In a higher octave, Kyra matched his humming, trying to bring her otter friend comfort with her music. Eventually, once she had the tune, she sang a soprano accompaniment, careful to make her notes match the melody that was being sung in a lower, male voice.  
  
Kyra had often enjoyed playing on a wooden fife, and when she had played duets with other otters often enough to know how to make up a harmony. But it was hard. The tune was haunting and sad. It had been a very long time since she had sung. A very long time. She hadn't really hummed or sang, not with her true heart, since the night that she had been kidnapped.  
  
Nearby, Kestral's ears perked up at the sound of the weaving harmony. The ottermaid listened quietly for a few moments, soaking in the notes, her paws automatically continuing the work they had grown used to over the past few days. Then she too joined in, taking up the alto part. Kyra felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips as Kestral joined with her own melody, in a slightly lower key. K  
  
Kyra felt herself growing sadder as they continued to hum the song, softly, ever so softly. After a long while of working while the soft humming was going on, a new voice joined in the song, picking up in a deep rolling bass voice. It was Raze. That deep, musical voice seemed odd to any who knew him. None had heard the ferret hum or sing before, but no-one would have guessed he had such a voice.  
  
Now, eyes half-closed, the ferret sang along, his voice completing the four- part harmony in wonderful style. The song drew long-buried feelings out of him, and he joined in now softly, his deep rolling voice sounding with theirs. Kyra smiled as the friends carried on their secret song.  
  
A rat stalked across the fields where the slaves worked, Delagor following him, armed with all his equipment still. The rat was giving him a tour. Kyra listened with wide eyes as the two conversed. Or, rather, the rat sentry jabbered while Delagor twitched his tail and nodded, throwing in only an occasional remark.  
  
"Well, this 'ere is where Mavarl 'as 'is slaves workin'. Biggest field an' all. Most heavily guarded too. Dere's a bunch o' slavemasters an' 'ordebeasts with longbows, ready to shoot or beat any slave misbe'avin'. Bad ones get taken to Mavarl if they disobey the rules or refuse to work."  
  
Delagor's dark brown eyes traversed carefully around the area, as he only half listened to the rat. His brow furrowed slightly as his quick brain processed what he saw. He had never approved of slaves. Never. The life of an assassin may trick other beasts into thinking that Delagor had no heart, but they were quite wrong. Thin grooves along his forehead became more pronounced as the rat continued on.  
  
Almost as immediately as he they had come, Delagor wiped his face blank. It wouldn't do for any creature serving Mavarl to spot his distaste. His arsenal of weapons clinked gently as he turned lightly to view the rest of the closest field. Then his eyes rested upon the small humming group (though he couldn't hear them). They hit swiftly upon the female otter. Rhyna's voice played itself through his head. . .  
  
"Ha harr, you'll recognise Mizz Kyra when ye see 'er, alright. She's preddy tall, wi' darker'n average fur. Got th' air o' a warrior 'bout 'er. Can't miss 'er. She'll 'ave company.. two, is it? Nay, three. Or mebbeh four. I didnay listen very hard."  
  
Ah. So, here was the group he was here to act as messenger for. Third step of the operation completed. Lifting a paw to his eyes in pretence of shielding them from the sun, he kept his gazed fixed upon the small crew, whilst making the effort to look attentive to his rat guide.  
  
"... an' the slave compound is o'er that way. They go there at sunset ev'ry night. We'll be in the castle, 'less yer on guard duty. Mavarl'll mos' likely put ye there soon so you c'n have a chance t'learn how to do it properly." He knew what Delagor was thinking. 'How hard could it be to guard a door? You just stand in front of it and drool like an idiot.' He didn't comment.  
  
Kyra, feeling the gaze of the wildcat upon the back of her neck, immediately pulled her head up and stared at him with large, dark brown eyes, making sure they locked with his... there was certainly something strange about him.  
  
Raze kept singing to himself softly, apparently not noticing anything. His eyes were on his work. But he was listening hard, and a sound caught his ears. A high-pitched bird call. It was MacPhearsome, obviously, coming to tell them that this wildcat was harmless. The ferret grinned and carried on working without missing a note, looking up briefly to meet Kyra's eyes and nod. The cat could be trusted.  
  
Kyra smiled, and nodded, and looked at the Wildcat, her brown eyes locking with his. She gave him a slight nod, and a wink that she knew only he could see. As she bent down to continue her work, still humming, a secretive smile curved the corners of her mouth upwards as she continued her work.  
  
The ottermaid knew she couldn't risk telling her friends now. But this was good news. It meant that Sky and her friends had finally arrived, and that Delagor would act as the messenger they needed to give information. With his help, and MacPhearsome's as well, they had a slight chance...


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

**Chapter Ten**

Kyra sat in a corner brooding, waiting for some sign from the wildcat. She felt that she had to talk to Lucien, Kestral, Raze, and Brindor, but the ottermaid knew that the slave compound wasn't safe with a guard on duty. Of course, she could always see if the guard had nodded off. Deciding to do so, the ottermaid stretched her arms, getting the kinks out of her muscles.  
  
Kyra smiled slightly as she got to her paws. She nodded at her friends and walked up to the door, looking outside to see if the guard had left his post, or if he had dozed off. After all, there wasn't usually much action in the Slave Compound this time of night. Or any time of night. The guards were not very careful or energetic about their jobs.  
  
As the ottermaid peered through the crack under the door, she frowned as she saw a pair of feet and the butt of a spear resting on the ground. But, then, as she examined the feet more closely, her heart leapt. They were wildcat paws! Tawny fur, and extra large pads. The ottermaid gulped, her mouth and throat suddenly dry.  
  
How could she tell if it was him? THE wildcat? How could she know? Throwing luck and change to the winds, the ottermaid gulped, licked her dry lips, ignored her pounding heart, and spoke loudly, so that the guard through the door could hear her. "Oh, if only my friends Rhyna, Raivine, and Skythistle were here. They would be able to comfort me in this life of slavery..."  
  
Brindor stared at Kyra, wondering what on earth had gotten into the ottermaid. His train of thought was abruptly interrupted as Kestral bounded up and knocked him head over rudder from behind, playfully pinning him to the floor. The singing had boosted her spirits and restored some of her former playfulness, a trait that had vanished the day she had lost her family.  
  
Brindor smiled lovingly up at his daughter, one paw reaching up to fondle her ear, a gesture that reached back to Kestral's dibbun days. With a weary grin, he tackled her in return, but like the grin, it was only half- hearted, for he could not find the heart to play in the currant situation of events. Meeting his eyes, Kestral understood, and subsided.  
  
Outside, Delagor was smiling thinly to himself, a smile that usually meant someone else was about to be very unhappy. He was leaning back against the door to the slave compound. The wildcat had been right in assuming that the job was easy, even if it was slightly tedious. He kept up his languid appearance as a few lone rats scurried to wherever they were supposed to be, before he came on the alert.  
  
His claws clicked gently against the ground as he shifted slowly upright, and it was then that Kyra's voice floated into his furry ears. Delagor had no difficulty in connecting the voice with Kyra. Who else could it be? As any tactical mover should, she was assessing whether or not he was sent by Rhyna. His smile became more pronounced, as he spoke softly. "What would you pay for freedom, Kyra Longfletch?"  
  
Kyra heard the reply so aptly spoken, and stepped forwards, lips almost touching the door as she whispered back, "my life, Stripecat." And it was true. Kyra Longfletch was willing to risk her life to gain the freedom she and her friends so craved and lusted after.  
  
"I'm on guard duty tonight, Kyra Longfletch. Rhyna Reguba hired me to act as a spy in Mavarl's horde. I accepted because of the challenge. I am a reliable link between you and the slaves, and the rebel forces waiting to help you. Skythistle Morningdew Meadowsong has organized a rescue party to assist you, and she has also gotten Salamandastron hares and Sea otters to add to the army. What message would you like me to convey to Skythistle?"  
  
Kyra grinned despite herself. "'E certainly doesn't beat 'round the bush, does 'e?" She said, whispering to Lucien. The otter grinned back at her, and Brindor, Kestral, and Raze joined in the silent laughter. Kyra took a deep breath and stepped forwards, almost pressing her lips to the door as she leaned in. Hopefully, the wildcat would be able to hear her when she gave him her instructions.  
  
"Fine, Stripecat, I'll trust you. Tell the army to be ready t'morrow night. We've rallied the slaves somewhat. Nothin' more we can do. I'll give the eagle cry once we're locked in the compound for th'night tomorrer. Once if we're preparing, twice if all is not well, three times if we're ready. When you hear it, get your tail over 'ere and help us. I'll pick the lock to the compound an' get us out. Understand?"  
  
The wildcat nodded even though Kyra couldn't see it. "Until tomorrow, Kyra Longfletch," was all he said before departing silently and swiftly to relate the news to Sky before daybreak. He would be back at his post before anyone noticed he was missing. Most creatures would be in bed about now in any case, and this was more important than getting caught away from his post.  
  
Raze grinned widely, wicked fangs gleaming in the dark. "Yew all 'eard that, tomorrer night we're gettin' outta here! Be ready. Now, get some shuteye. Tomorrer's gonna be a long day... "Suiting the action to the word, he padded to his corner and curled up, his matter-of-fact air reassuring the other slaves as he lowered his head to the floor and closed his eyes for what would hopefully be his last sleep as a captive.  
  
Kyra woke early that morning. Earlier than usual, that is. The sun was not yet up, but they were usually up before the first light of dawn touched the island anyway. It was still night. She had a few moments to herself before the guards would come bursting in; only a few moments. So she sat, eyes adjusting to the dark, half closed in weariness.  
  
As her eyes adjusted to the dark, the ottermaid watched a form that had gone to sleep in another part of the room move up and down, breathing softly and slowly in a peaceful sleep. Lucien. She watched him for a while, slightly envying his peace of mind. He rarely enjoyed such a moment, and neither did she. Even in slumber, both of them were haunted by nightmarish ghouls of their pasts and of their futures.  
  
Yawning silently, Raze uncurled with a stretch and looked around him. When he saw Kyra, he grinned and stood up, stretching again to ease the kinks out of his muscles. Padding over, he winked and gave her a relaxed smile, truly at his ease for once.  
  
"Well, mate, today's the day, eh? Y'ready? We got us some work t'do." Scratching absently at the scars on his back, now all but healed over, his eyes hardened. "An' some scores t'settle."  
  
Lucien stirred slightly at Raze's words. He opened one eye, the baby blue one. He grinned. "Indeed we do, Raze, m'friend. . . indeed we do." He slowly rose from his spot sleeping against the wall, staggering to his feet awkwardly, almost too drowsy from last night's late hours to move. His only comfort came from his next statement. "But t'day we're getting freedom, and it's worth the work we went through."  
  
Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Kestral sat up and turned to the small piece of sky she could see through a crack in the compound wall. A slight smudge of gray tinged horizon, heralding the coming day. Today all their plans would go into action. The outcome would either be Freedom, or death. There was no turning back.  
  
Kestral shook herself. She would not think like that. They had to win. They had to. By the end of today, Mavarl would not be alive to choose whether they lived or died. That thought gave her a sickeningly pleasant feeling, too. Mavarl would be punished for his many, many felonies. Brindor, who had woken soon after Kestral, came up behind her and put a paw on her shoulder, drawing her out of her thoughts.  
  
"Kestral. . . during the battle tonight. . . I want you to stay on the ship. We can sneak you over there beforehand, and you can be ready to help the slaves when they arrive." Kestral turned to look at him, her expression carefully blank.  
  
"You don't really. . ." Realizing that he did really mean it, Kestral shook her head and said quietly, "I'd go mad within five minutes, cooped up there while the rest of you fought. You know that."  
  
Brindor sighed. "You'd have an important job, Kes, I'm not just-"  
  
Kestral turned her back to him, voice flat and emotionless. "No."  
  
"Kestral Riversplash, listen to me," Bindor's voice was full of urgent worry- and love. "I lost you once, I don't want to lose you again! You could be killed-" Whirling around, Kestral cut him off once again, eyes and voice hard with barely contained anger.  
  
"I am no longer a dibbun, Da! I may not be full grown, but I am not a kit, to be coddled and protected and hidden away at the first sign of danger. I am not the best warrior in the world, but we need all the help we can get, and I will not be shut away while the rest of you fight for what is right and true!"  
  
"Kes, don't you see? I am only trying to protect you. You still have a lot of life ahead of you-"  
  
"Then why did you an' ma teach me staff and sling and bow?" Kestral asked, eyes narrowed. "You taught me to protect myself, to stand up for myself. What good is life if it is lived in slavery? If we do not win, Mavarl will kill me anyway. I cannot sail away from here on my own."  
  
Father and daughter locked eyes for a moment or two, one angry and stubborn, the other weary and sad. Finally, Brindor nodded. Almost inaudibly, the otter spoke. "Very well. You may fight."  
  
Kyra smiled slightly, nodding at Lucien and Raze, hardly hearing Kestral in the background as she argued with her father, who seemed to be reluctantly losing this family battle. "Lucien's right. We do 'ave a long day ahead of us. 'Member what we're supposed to do? If all goes according to plan, I give three eagle calls. If all is wrong, I give two calls. One if we're locked in the compound and are preparing."  
  
Lucien nodded, hearing the directions again, though not really listening. Out of the corner of his eye he had been watching Kestral argue with her father. He watched the old Otter's face, his features aged and tired. His frame was exhausted, and he obviously wanted his daughter safe. He just then realized what they were arguing about: whether Kestral was to fight or not!  
  
He was used to bow and circular blades, so maybe Kestral, who was trained with a staff, could teach him a thing or two 'til he got his own weapons back. And so, he approached Kyra with the thought in mind. "Kys, d'yeh think we could see iffen the rescue party could bring us any weapons, two staffs also iffen they could. Or should I just keep m'big fat mouth shut?" he said, with a grin and a wink.  
  
Kyra shrugged. "We're out of here t'morrow, Lucien. I doubt they'll reach us before then, but you can always just pick up some of the bigger sticks from outside." The maid smiled as an idea formed in her mind. "Or you could look for two broken scythe handles in the rubbish heap in the corner of the compound. Get an' extra staff fer me too, if y'don't mind, Lucien," she said, smiling.  
  
Raze, overhearing the conversation, grinned viciously, his eyes feral- looking in the predawn light. He now resembled the vermin he truly was. "Those scythes're fine weapons, mates - long 'andles t'use as staffs, an' nice sharp blades. We kin get our own stuff back after it's all over." Raze licked his teeth and grinned nastily. This was going to be a day to remember.  
  
Kyra nodded, smiling with eager anticipation. She could almost feel her heart accelerating, and the blood running through her veins. She could almost taste the salty sweet flavor of blood in the air. . . on her tongue. . . she could feel her arrow plunging into the soft flesh of Mavarl. . . Kyra shuddered, clutching the smooth stone wall for support. She couldn't let the bloodwrath take control.  
  
"Er. . . Lucien. . . Raze. . ." she said cautiously, "I need t'tell you two sommat. . . after we get our weapons, make sure y'don't come anywhere near me. Just stay as far away from me as y'can. Far away. I don' want any of you hurt. Tell Kestral and all the other slaves too. Once we start, don't go near me. I might take off a head before I recognize who it belongs to."  
  
And then she was silent, still clutching the stone wall, her heart slowing, and her mind frightened. Blind terror was not unknown to Kyra, and the thing she feared the most wasn't death or Mavarl, pain or torture. The thing that Kyra was frightened of most was herself. Kyra nodded, smiling slightly.  
  
"Good. I know you'll understand, Raze. You too, Lucien. Kestral and her father won't come near me. Rhyna's seen what happens to beasts who come near me when I'm fighting. Log-A-Log Raivine has seen it first hand too.  
  
"I'm more worried about that idjit of an 'aremaid Sky! I know she's smart, but she does have a habit of running into idiotic situations. My bet's she'll run after me the entire time because she's worried ratface will kill me. Don't blame her. I'd do the same. Proves we're both idiots. But I'm worried she won't listen to me. That hare will 'ardly listen t'anyone."  
  
Raze shrugged, trying to sound confident for Kyra's sake. The ottermaid needed all the confidence that she could get for the day ahead, and he wasn't going to refuse her a little comfort when she so needed it. "Aye, mate, I know. I seen it afore. But Sky knows too, an' she ain't stupid enough t' go that close. We all know t'keep clear o' yew in the battle now, the slaves as well. Don't worry."  
  
Kyra shook her head. "I would like to believe you, but I know Sky better than you do. She'd go after me, especially if I told her not to. The guards'll be comin' soon. Raze, Lucien, I want you two to keep an eye out. I've got a feeling... somewhere in the pit of my stomach... a feeling that somethings goin' to go wrong. Make sure nobeast is missing. . . I don't want us betrayed."  
  
Raze nodded once, to show he understood, and stood up to take a head count. All the slaves were awake by now and watching the leaders in silence, waiting. Everyone was present, yet Raze felt something was wrong as well. A feeling of foreboding had settled on him, and he gritted his teeth determinedly. He'd go ahead regardless.  
  
Darkness had recently blanketed the sky, stars popping out. It was time. Lucien rose from his spot in the corner of the slave compound. This was it. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. He quickly wiped it away, taking a slow, deep breath and exhaling, walking towards the rest of the slaves.  
  
"Rouse y'selves now. It's time," he said in a low tone, tapping every slave until he saw their eyes open, leaving out Raze, Kestral, Brindor, and Kyra. He'd wake them in a moment. He then came to the scythes, all stolen from the fields, gathering them up and passing them out amongst the slaves. He ended up getting a scythe himself, as well as one for Kyra, Raze, and two staffs for Kestral and Brindor.  
  
He stopped a moment after passing out all but these 5 weapons, he stopped to take a look at Kyra. Sleeping. He smiled, and stepped first to Kestral, tapping her on the shoulder and handing her a staff, likewise with Brindor. He then approached Raze, tapping him on the shoulder and handing him a scythe. He nodded and winked, continuing lastly to Kyra.  
  
He shook her sleeping form lightly. "Wake up, Kys. 'Tis time." He put a scythe in her lap and put an arm on her shoulder. "Time fer yew t'go kick that filthy rat's 'ide," he said with a grin. "Time fer us t'get free."  
  
Kyra opened one eye and smiled. "Aye, 'tis time indeed. Thanks, Lucien."  
  
The ottermaid wandered up from her position on the floor. The day's labor had been a long and hard one. But, thankfully, it would be her last. It was time. The time she had been waiting for. She stood up, watching as all the other slaves lined up neatly near the door. She looked outside the door. One guard. Good. She had thought Delagor would be there, but no.  
  
The ottermaid smiled at the slaves, feeling responsible for them. It was time to say a few words. "Well, mates, this is it. It's time. We all hate Mavarl and his rats. You've all got weapons. Anybeast not fit to fight should stay in 'ere 'till someone comes for you. Sky will know what to do. She'll send someone up to collect you and bring you down to the ship."  
  
"You others," she continued, "Are t'wait until I say it's time. I'm goin' to give the eagle call. The rat'll come in to investigate. Then, it'll be time. Take a moment to prepare. Then, we start. Lucien, a word, please?" Not waiting for Lucien to answer, the ottermaid drew him aside, partially out of view. "We don't have much time, so m'goin' to say what I've been wanting to say. Lucien. . . well. . . er. . ."  
  
The ottermaid froze, the entire speech she had planned out freezing on her lips. "I. . . er. . ." Gathering every ounce of courage the possessed, the ottermaid stepped a pace forwards, heart beating frantically. "Well. . ." She paused, took a deep breath, and continued. "I. . . I guess I'd better show you."  
  
Taking a final step forwards, the ottermaid pressed her lips to her dear friends. A soft kiss, and a sad one. She pulled back immediately and took a few steps towards the door, one shoulder of her tunic lopsided. She didn't notice. "In case. . . in case we don't meet again, Lucien Streambed."  
  
Kestral was entirely awake and alert almost immediately, her nerves had been tight as a drawn bow all night, ready to spring forward. Now though, as she accepted the staff from Lucien with a nod of thanks, she felt oddly calm. Stretching, she ran through a few of the basic staff drills.  
  
Brindor too was awake, holding his staff awkwardly in one hand. Staffwork had never been his strongpoint. He did not want to be rude, they had obviously gone to some trouble to get this for him, but all the same he would probably do more harm then good if he tried to wield it. A sudden idea struck him, and he sat, setting the staff down and undoing the battered rope that served him as a tunic belt.  
  
Listening to Kyra's speech with one ear, he tugged at a section in the middle of it, loosening it until it was enough broader that it would hold a stone. Feeling around on the ground for a stone, he found one and fitted it into the makeshift sling. Whirling it around unobtrusively, the otter tested the weight. Satisfied, he nodded. This would do nicely.  
  
Brindor then turned to Kestral. He hugged his daughter, then, one last time, asked "You're sure y'want to do this? It's not too late to send you to the boat." Kestral nodded again. He had not really expected her to change her mind. She was able to take care of herself now. He had realized that in the past few days.  
  
Soon after, Kyra let out the eagle call. "KYEEEEEAAAAAAAAAR! KYEEEEEEAAAAAAR! KYEEEEEAAAAAAAR!"  
  
Once. Twice. Three times. It was done. As Kyra had predicted, the rat banged on the door. "Shuddup, yew lot, or I'm comin' in."  
  
"Come in and get me, longtail," she retorted.  
  
The rat unlocked the door and stormed into the room. Swish! Crack! Thwap! Kyra brought the blunt end of the scythe down on the unfortunate rats head as he charged in the door, whip raised. She smiled, and wound the whip about one paw. "Alright you lot. We're ready. Remember what I told you, and good luck! Remember. . . Mavarl's mine."  
  
With these words, the last rebellion against Mavarl the Tyrant had started.  
  
The hills just beyond Castle Fortguard were teaming with goodbeasts, but none could be seen. Each was well hidden, waiting, some impatiently, some nervously, for the cry that would signal the battle's beginning. It was upon one of these hills where Sky found Dunner. She sat off to the side, laughing softly beneath her breath as she watched him show off before a group of shrews.  
  
Dunner was thoroughly enjoying himself, having waited like this many times before. To pass the time, he had removed six daggers from the belt he kept slung across his chest and was juggling them, attempting an extra trick every few minutes.  
  
The eagle cry rang from the castle: once, twice, thrice. In an instant the daggers were back in the belt, the hare darting over the hill, careful to stay hidden. The army was after him in a flash, Sky speeding up to run by his side, a grin flashing across her face. Finally, it had begun.  
  
Meanwhile, Raze tightened his grip on the scythe handle, teeth bared in a snarl, fangs gleaming malevolently in the torchlight. He raced out of the door and darted silently away from the compound, following his own route as the slaves split and hunted down one vermin after another.  
  
As the face of a newly slain rat blanched, the ferret ran past him and straight into a guard stoat. He swung the scythe and beheaded the unfortunate stoat instantly, screaming aloud as he saw another figure in the distance. "SCRAAAAAAAW! YORE MINE, SCUM!"  
  
The ferret's eyes blazed yellow with battle light as he charged forward. Scraw's eyes widened, and he turned and fled deeper into the fortress, leaving Raze to hunt him down. The ferret pursued, laughing wildly and killing every vermin he passed as he ran after the rat.  
  
He eventually cornered Scraw on the deck of their old ship, the Darkwave. Scraw was cowering against the mast, cornered and desperately seeking for a way to stall the now grim-faced ferret who stalked towards him.  
  
Scraw sniveled and cried, trying desperately to think of a way to stall the ferret, for he knew that otherwise he would kill him eventually. Distract him and the rat stood a chance of escape. His mind raced, and finally he managed to gasp a phrase. "Coward or no, I still managed to off yore parents, yew worthless gutter trash!"  
  
The blade clattered to the deck, dropped from nervelsss paws; the whip went the same way. Raze stared at the rat. "Wot did you say?" he asked quietly, his voice laden with menace. "Tell me, rat, or you'll scream fer a season an' beg me fer death afore I let you go." Raze's voice was ice cold, and Scraw's resolve faltered before he sneered.  
  
"I said that yer sire an' dam was bilge scrapin's like yew, not fit ter lick a decent searat's paws. I knew 'em well enough. Knew 'em fore yew was born. I killed 'em, too, an' t'was the best thing I ever did." His voice cut off at the look on the ferret's face.  
  
Scraw's laughter, wicked and cruel, faltered slightly as he saw the look on the ferret's face, and he began to back away nervously, laughter dying away. Truly scared, Scraw backed up and his back hit the mast. Nowhere to run, and he stared ashen-faced at the ferret, trembling and scared, watching those grim eyes turning blood-red.  
  
Raze stared at him, a look of savagery on his face. Then something snapped within his brain, and he heard himself screaming as a red mist blanketed his vision, covering everything. All he could see through the red mist was the rat against the mast. He charged forwards, feeling his teeth come together and rip, and felt the blood flowing thick, hot and fast between his clenched jaws as red fog covered everything.  
  
The red mist faded slowly, and he stared impassively down at the searat's corpse, noting in a detached way that Scraw's throat had been ripped out and that a look of terror was on his face.


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

**Chapter Eleven**

Lucien blinked silently. He opened his mouth. . . no words came. He spluttered and fumbled, searching for something to say. But when he finally got something, she had run off. He groaned, and ran after, soon loosing her as he twirled his scythe expertly, killing easily. After all, it came naturally to him. It did. He hated it too. . .  
  
"STREEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAMBEEEEEEEEEED!!!" he screamed, his eyes growing a ruby red. Frightened vermin faces turned to meet his face. Bloodlust in his mind, all common sense cast aside, he rushed into their midst. One ferret in particular turned her head, ears perked, with a snarl.  
  
"That blasted sonnova-..." she muttered. "Yew, Ratdeath!" she growled out to a rat. He rushed over, throwing a quick salute. "Charge yer party at that 'un, that otter over there. 'E's slippery, but iffen y'come back t'me with bad news..." The rat had run off before she had finished.  
  
He rushed his party at Lucien, not a lot of vermin, but what they thought was enough to take down one otter. He took them on with laughs and blood. Slash, thwap, crimson and hot liquid splattering his dark fur. Although he was a good warrior, he suffered his own cuts and wounds.  
  
Soon the rat's party was dead, but more were coming. For every foe he felled, two more took his/her place. This would never stop the stubborn otter though. His optics then focused on one ferret. "Silverblood," he growled. She drew her double-handed broadsword, tossing him his own circular blades.  
  
"Been 'oldin' on t'them," she said with a wicked grin. She hefted her weapon while Lucien pawed his own. His eye twitched, insanely smirking. "This is it, otter," Silverblood said. Lucien narrowed his eyes, gripping his favored weapons tightly.  
  
They lunged at each other. Silverblood started with a lunge at Lucien's chest. Predicting this from a previous fight, Lucien sidestepped, catching the blade in between the two circles. Grunting, she wrenched her sword backwards, causing her to stagger slightly.  
  
Lucien advanced upon her, swinging both blades from the right side, aiming for her ribs. She turned her blade horizontally, a clang sounding as either razor edge met. Vibrations ran up both their arms. They both stumbled backwards.  
  
Silverblood took the next move, a crescent moon slash to his left. He crouched low, bending his head to the right as the sword scraped lightly across his cheek, making a short, but deep cut. He growled, launching himself at her, catching her in the stomach. She and Lucien tumbled until she came out on top, sword tip pointed at his neck, but his blade's edges pressed against her skin, both panting.  
  
"Yew've gotten better, y'garbage," she spat.  
  
"And yew've got yer filthy tongue back, I see."  
  
Silverblood snarled, and he took advantage of the pause to kick her in the stomach. Her form shot up into the air, landing with a thump on the ground, dust rising into the air in a cloud. Lucien staggered upwards, and stumbled towards Silverblood. She picked up a handful of sandy-soil and threw it into his eyes. He yelled and covered his eyes with his paws, trying to scrape it out.  
  
Silverblood lunged, and he blocked blindly, sending her blade into his leg. With a scream, he fell to one knee, dropping his weapons and clutching his leg, gasping for breathe. Half-blind, and the pain of an oddly dislocated knee shooting through him, he tore his eyes off the blood from the wound the blade had as well inflicted. He squinted up at Silverblood. She laughed, a low, raspy sound.  
  
"That's right, Streambed, look up and stare straight inter my eyes. . . see yer enemy. . . see yer life's end." Look he did, wheezing, sand encrusting the rims of his eyes, his body blood covered. Behind his back, his paws fumbled for his dropped weapon.  
  
"Not as long as I have strength in my arms, blood in my veins, and a soul in my body!" he shouted, and with a final effort, grasped his weapons and leapt at Silverblood. His movements were swift enough to catch her off- guard. He slashed at her unprotected chest, to quick for her to block, angled perfectly.  
  
She swung angrily at him. He dove to the side, rolled, and came back up, slashing at her leg to even the odds slightly. She screamed, her height shrinking slightly. Lucien jumped towards her, blades in hand, and swung. Lucien felt Silverblood's fear, her death, he felt darkness and light, he knew it was coming. . .  
  
She ducked out of the way just in time, both landing on opposite sides face down in the dirt. He had managed to graze her side: she had merely knocked him a blow to the side with the hilt of her sword. They both assumed the other was not up, and spun 'round to face each other. And, with a final leap they met.  
  
It all happened in the swift movements that follow. Lucien slashed, she ducked, bringing her sword around in an arc to decapitate him. He blocked quickly, swinging her sword around in a circle as he did so. They both stumbled backwards, and jumped at each other.  
  
In mid-air their weapons found each other. A clang burst into the all-but- silent air, of steel upon steel, good upon evil, them and the air around them seemingly vibrating. They both landed back on the ground, naught but a few paces away from one another, and poised to strike. And, with a final run, they came to each other.  
  
Lucien held his blades as though they were wheels, ignoring the pain in his paws as he spun the circular blades and drove them deep into her chest. Her pupils grew thin, her eyes wide open. Her limp form fell backwards.  
  
Lucien's face was twisted in pain from the dislocated leg, the wounds coursing over his body, the purple bruises on his ribs. . . Then the pain hit him. Like a boulder to the head it hit him. He fell to his knees, which was quite painful, and further collapsed into a sitting position, barely conscious.  
  
Everything started to blur, but not before he noticed Silverblood and him had battled away from the war. Good. . . maybe they'd think him dead. Now, the cold and numbness once again blanketed him, almost soothing. He started to fade, fade from the world, a voice calling him. Then, a song began in his ears as his eyelids slowly closed. The days are cold, the nights are long,  
  
The northwinds sings a doleful song,  
  
So hush again upon my chest,  
  
All merry things are now at rest,  
  
Save thee, my pretty love...  
  
Lucien stood at the gates of the Dark Forest, staring into its depths. "It's been a long time. . . son," came a voice: smooth, elegant, melodious. He turned to this familiar voice, though he had not heard it in seasons upon seasons. He saw her honey colored fur, her thin and beautiful frame, and sea blue eyes. He laughed in disbelief, a tear streaming down his cheek.  
  
"Mom!"  
  
He rushed to her, embracing her as she laughed as well. "Yes, my child, it's me," she said, patting him on the back. She held him out slightly, looking him up and down with a smile. "My, my, my, you've grown so much from that stubborn otterkit I raised," she said. He beamed.  
  
"How I've longed t'see you, mom! When you died at Moonshadow's hand, I. . . I couldn't go on. So, I was enslaved, and I killed him-"  
  
"I know, son. I watched over you as your life went on. You suspected too, but it was too crazy for your adolescent mind. Now I've seen you've transformed into a brave warrior. Your mind is warped, but you have found friends and. . . ." she trailed off, grinning and raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Mom!" Lucien said, blushing. She flicked his nose, still grinning, because she knew he knew it was true.  
  
"Son," came another voice. Lucien's smile faded into a face of pure shock. He shook his head, the smile reappearing as he saw him.  
  
"Dad!"  
  
He ran to his sire, gripped in his strong hold. His father was still taller than him, even at full growth. "Yes, 'tis me. You've become a fine young otter, Lucien." More tears sparkled onto Lucien's cheeks.  
  
"Finally, I get to join you two here," Lucien exclaimed joyously. His father's face grew grave. Lucien looked up. "What is it?"  
  
"You can't stay with us," he said quietly. Lucien shook his head.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You can't, it's not your time. She needs you. Now, go!" his father cried, and he and his mother started to drift away. Lucien shook his head, running but not moving.  
  
"No! I need you! I need you! NO!" he shouted as they faded away, and he drifted. . . drifted. . . He caught a single glance of a hare's face over him, but then back into blackness. . . And he drifted. . . and he drifted. . . and drifted further, until the blackness enveloping him almost hurt to stare into with closed eyes.  
  
Lucien's eyelids fluttered open, and he looked up at the great familiar Golden Eagle that was looming above him. He grinned, and wearily reached out the arm that was not spurting blood. "Hey, MacPhearsome. Haven't seen ye in a while, eh? How'd I get up 'ere, mate?" he said weakly.  
  
MacPhearsome eyed him severely. "Yeh have te kape alive, maister Lucien. Yeh must rayjict death, d'yeh hearken?" he said carefully. Lucien grinned.  
  
"Yeah, I hearken, y'great featherbag. Now, help me t'bandage these wounds o' mine. I 'ave a feeling Kys might need me," he said, wincing as he looked down at his arm and leg.  
  
Whilst the others were fighting for their lives, Kyra was alone. She had easily made her way through the mob of fighting creatures. Mavarl had his troops trained well, ready to attack at a moments notice. He still didn't trust her. That was apparent. The troops seemed to know the otter, and also seemed to possess enough common sense in their twisted, wicked brains to steer clear of her.  
  
Even without the sight of Mavarl to trigger her red anger, it started to seep into her mind anyway. Kyra, using all the willpower she could spare, pushed it aside. Later. First, she wanted her bow. Then, Mavarl would die a slow and painful death. She would make sure of that.  
  
Kyra Longfletch was no fool. Any vermin stupid enough to come even remotely close to her soon had their heads dispatched from their bodies. Kyra Longfletch let none live. Kyra continued on her way, at last reaching the great double doors of Fortguard. Effortlessly, she whacked on the rusty old lock with her scythe, breaking it in two before kicking the door open with a foot.  
  
There were many rats inside; the ottermaid had underestimated the number of rats Mavarl had. She didn't care. They were only hordebeasts. She could easily behead any that got in her way. They noticed her, some scrambling to get out of her way, and others scrambling to get in her way and stop her. Their leader would pay for her head on a platter, they knew.  
  
She started to sprint, chopping away with her scythe, all the while trying to keep her mind at bay; trying to keep the Red Mist back. To no avail. Even the mighty Kyra Longfletch could not battle an army. Some innner part of her knew that no mere otter could fight in these odds. Her bloodwrath took over.  
  
Though no mere otter could defeat scores of rats, a beast under the influence of Bloodwrath could. Cregga Roseyes had been known to charge into armies of five hundred vermin or more, though she had gone blind after such a feat. Kyra was luckier. She made it through scathed, though not seriously injured.  
  
She had to get her bow. Her journey to the armory seemed to take mere seconds, though it had really lasted several minutes. As she opened the door, Kyra did not need to search for her bow. She knew where it was; hung on the back of the armory door, as it had been last time. She lifted her hands and tenderly, reverently, took her bow down from the back of the door where Mavarl had placed it.  
  
Kyra knew where she would find Mavarl. She knew where the rat would be lurking. Under normal circumstances, Mavarl would be out fighting, leading his rats from the front. This time, Mavarl had left command to another. He and Kyra both knew, from an inner sense that was buried deep within their souls, that they would have to meet alone, and that no armies would be able to help them once they did.  
  
Mavarl would be waiting for her in the dungeons. The otter didn't exactly know how she knew this, but she knew it none the less. It did not take long for her to reach the dungeon steps. She pressed her hand to the stone wall near the barred wooden door, taking comfort from its cool surface. Then, the ottermaid opened the door to the dungeons.  
  
After thinking a moment, she decided upon something. It was better to be careful than sorry. She pulled two arrows from her quiver and laid them in a large X on the ground in front of the door. If she was unable to come back up herself due to injuries or. . . or death. . . someone would come for her, or else her body.  
  
The dimly lit corridors of the dungeon seemed strange and distorted in the torchlight. The ottermaid came up to one wall, easily tall enough to grab one of the torches from its bracket. A light in such a place as this would be needed. The ottermaid did not realize that, by doing this, she could not draw her bow quickly.  
  
Kyra continued walking, paws hardly making any noise as she glided along the corridors, almost spirit like in her fluid motions. Her heart pounded all the while, blood rushing through her veins. Blood that would soon be spilt, she knew, but hopefully less so than Mavarl's.  
  
Soon, Kyra ended her wanderings, passing door upon door upon barred door, leading into damp, uncleanly prison cells. She herself had been kept in one of them, but that was long ago. Then, at the end of the hall, she saw her destination. The Torture Room.  
  
She could still remember the time long ago when Mavarl had used it on her. "Bare back," he'd said before peeling off her ragged garment from her back, leaving it bare while he gave out the worst whipping she'd ever gotten. She tried not to think about it. The door was closed. She didn't care. She calmly walked up, and knocked.  
  
Meanwhile, outside, things were going rather well. Slowly, the tide was turning. The battle had barely started, but already the goodbeasts were taking charge, forcing their enemy back into the castle. The slaves were free of the compound; the weak ones on their way to the ships, while the stronger ones joined in the fight.  
  
Sky had quickly left the group rescuing the slaves. She had been pulled into the fight, unable to resist the thrill of battle any longer. Slashing, hacking, thrusting, parrying; her saber was everywhere at once, weaving through the vermin as she made her way into the castle. The young Captain was thoroughly enjoying herself, laughing softly under her breath as she made her way through the masses.  
  
Today Fortguard would fall. There was no doubting it this time. The tide had turned, Mavarl and his horde were doomed, it was only a matter of time. . . Time which was passing far to slowly for her liking. The castle was breached easily enough. Once inside, Sky automatically followed the trail of dead and dying vermin, quickly disposing of any who might have escaped Kyra's onslaught.  
  
On and on the trail went, winding through hallways, spilling down corridors, leading exactly where she thought it to: the armory. Kyra. But she already knew the otter wouldn't be there. No, Kyra would be looking for Mavarl, which meant. . . Sky skimmed past the armory without bothering to look in, slicing through a pair of reckless weasels who dared to get in her way.  
  
She continued down the hallway, moving at a quick walk, saber held ready for whatever might await her. Arrows on the ground; Kyra had been here. And not long ago, for that matter. The battle had practically just begun, after all. She turned a corner and there she was.  
  
"Kyra!"  
  
Sky had come just at the wrong moment. A moment that would prove more deadly than the hare could have realized. The door opened, slowly, and Kyra turned just as Sky called her. She saw the hare, her heart pounding. "Sky, you idiot, you scared m-" The otter was cut off as the door swung slowly open. Mavarl had thrown his sword into it, allowing it to open easily.  
  
Calmly, coolly, the rat warlord stepped forwards, his paw drawing a long, deadly scimitar. Kyra had seen it before. "So, Kyra Longfletch," the rat said tauntingly without trace of an accent. "We meet at last. You don't know how long I've waited for this very moment, otter. How many nights I've not slept a wink thinking of the pleasure of killing you. . . slowly and painfully."  
  
Kyra did not bother to turn away from Sky, the haremaid seemed frozen. Kyra had no time to react and push away the red madness that was slowly filling her eyes. . . her head. . . her throat. . . every muscle and fiber of her being was throbbing and aching. Aching for blood. She had no time to stop what was going to happen next.  
  
The ottermaid dropped the torch to the ground, the flame still burning, and did not even notice it as it skittered into the room from whence the rat had come. She still did not turn. Mavarl only saw the ottermaid's shoulders going up and down as the bloodwrath pumped through her blood.  
  
The image of Sky swam in front of her, blurry, unrecognizable as her dearest and oldest friend. Kyra almost sank to her knees because of the painful ferocity in which the bloodwrath clung to her. Her previous experiences were nothing compared with the pain she felt! It burned her from the inside out! Kyra, in only a matter of seconds, had an arrow at the end of her bow.  
  
She must kill Mavarl. . . She must kill Mavarl. . . This strange thing was in her way. . . She must kill Mavarl. . . She must kill Mavarl. . .This thing must be stopped, this thing was evil. She must dispose of it. Mavarl must be killed. . . she let the arrow fly and it hit home. The haremaid staggered back a few paces from the force of the blow, eyes widening with shock, slumped against the wall, her vision clouded.  
  
An accident. It had been an accident. Kyra hadn't meant to hit her. Bloodwrath. . . blood lust- Mavarl had caused this. She couldn't see; vision wavering. Her chest hurt; the arrow had gone deep, she didn't need to look to know. Oh, how she wanted to res- NO! No, she wouldn't die here. She would live! She'd live. . . live. . . life. . . Pulse fading. . . little. . . less. . . nothing. . .  
  
Only then did Kyra turn around, hardly even remembering what she had done. The otter was, for the time being, sweetly oblivious to the fact that she had just shot her best friend with an arrow. . . a deadly shot. At in a sane state of mind, Kyra would have panicked. Now, she wasn't sane. She was under the bloodwrath, completely crazy.  
  
And so it had not been Lucien, Kestral, or Raze that suffered from her madness, though she had warned them. Not Raze, the solemn and faithful ferret. Not Kestral, bright and fresh with youth. Not Lucien. . . well, the one she loved perhaps more than any other. It had been Sky. Sky had always been there for her. Sky was. . . has been. . . her best friend in the world.  
  
Mavarl was frightened. Kyra had shot, of her own accord, Skythistle Morningdew. KYRA had just shot her best friend. Kyra! What the hell was going on with that ottermaid? His panicked brain could come up with only one explanation. She was mad. He had thought Kyra to be sane, but dangerous. This proved otherwise.  
  
Kyra had just shot Skythistle, her best friend and faithful companion! How could she have done such a thing if she were sane? Mavarl gulped. He was not just dealing with a mere ottermaid. He was dealing with a creature possessed! One he had driven insane! But, even so, he remained outwardly calm. "So. . . we meet at last, Kyra Longfletch. I think its time that we had a little chat, as it were."  
  
Kyra nodded, speech somehow still present as she heard the rat's voice as if from afar. Through the red mist, a voice that sounded like her own answered it. "Yes. Let's have a chat. Just to warn you, I can talk very loudly indeed." Kyra pulled back a green shaft and let it fly. The arrow went wide of its mark. She had intended for it to miss.  
  
Kyra, knowing Mavarl would be watching the arrow, used the distraction to duck down and swing her powerful rudder around in a full circle in an attempt to knock Mavarl down. This plan only partially worked. The rudder smacked the rat full in his stomach, winding him, but though he staggered for a brief moment, he did not fall. The arrow, however, had hit another target.  
  
It had struck the torch Kyra had so carelessly thrown near the doorway to the Torture Room earlier. That was a great misfortune on Kyra's part. Sparks ran along the arrow and sprayed into the air, several dropping onto the fur of both opponents. Kyra, under the influence of the bloodwrath, ignored the sparks. She was concentrated on the rat in front of her. Mavarl was strong, and soon got over the thump Kyra had given him. Neither noticed the fire that licked along the wooden parts of the torture devices nearby.  
  
Kyra's eyes were red, her vision was blurred, but still she put up an amazing fight. Tearing an arrowpoint from one of her shafts, the otter twirled it skillfully in one paw and threw it as she would a throwing dagger. The small point succeeded in tearing off the unlucky rat's right ear. The warlord shrieked in pain, grabbing his head and dropping his scimitar.  
  
And so Kyra charged inward, bow in paw, though an arrow wasn't notched to its thick, well woven string. Mavarl had started off the fight very badly, but he was soon to gain the upper hand. Though Kyra was his equal in strength and equal to him in size and determination, and probably even more agile than he, her head was befuddled. Creatures possessed with Bloodwrath could not reason as those without it.  
  
Kyra could only see Mavarl, the red mist swirling around her like a fog. . . all she saw was the form of the rat and all she knew was that her arrows wanted to taste his blood. She had not the inventiveness of mind in her present situation to think. Her body was acting on instinct. The muscle patterns she had embedded in her brain as a kit were saving her life.  
  
Somehow, Kyra had thrown her bow aside, and had not allowed Mavarl to pick up his cutlass. It was a hand to hand combat now. But then, something happened that interfered with everything. Fire, hot and bright, flickered from the inside of the room as a large wooden table inside the torture rack fell to the floor, shooting flames everywhere.  
  
Suddenly, Kyra felt a searing pain in her flesh. Pain like she had never imagined was possible running along her back, searing her skin, baking her flesh. Kyra could only manage to pick up the arrow. . . her golden arrow and bow, from the ground. With the firm wood in her paw, she turned away, trying to see through the blanket of black smog and red anger and flames.  
  
She saw Mavarl coughing and sputtering, trying to escape the flames. "Oh no you don't," she said with the last of her oxygen. "Oh no you don't, rat!" She aimed her arrow, and let the golden shaft fly. . .


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

**Chapter Twelve**

Tears of Blood Blackness overcame the ottermaid as she thudded to the ground, flames still vibrant in their fiery red brilliance. She saw Dark Forest's gates in front of her. A voice behind her laughed. Kyra turned to see Mavarl. "So, you're here too, otter? Good. At least that's one small consolation. I killed you after all."  
  
"At least you're dead too, you filthy rat," Kyra responded. "Leave me alone. I don't want to see you, even in death."  
  
The rat rolled his eyes. "Foolish young pup. We aren't dead. The gates haven't opened. We're only on the brink of death." Kyra nodded slowly, understanding it. So, she wasn't dead. She hadn't entered the gates yet. She still had a chance. A chance to kill Mavarl, that is.  
  
"Aye. And I intend to send you beyond that gate, Mavarl." Mavarl looked at her coolly.  
  
Suddenly, the air about her turned red with flame. The air about her grew denser, and she started to choke. Kyra looked down beneath her feet. A gaping pit of flames had opened between her and the rat. "Hellgates..." she whispered. She looked down, eyes stinging, at the flames below her.  
  
Mavarl sneered. "It seems that we are at an impasse, Riverdog. I cannot reach you, and you cannot reach me."  
  
Kyra shook her head again. "Yer wrong, rat. You can't reach me over 'ere, but I can sure as the season get to you. Or die trying. I'm goin' to kill you even if I fall into that accursed pit!" Kyra ran backwards. Mavarl was speechless. Closing her eyes, feet gripping the ground, she took another few steps back. "This is for all the friends that rat killed, and for all my friends that are trying to overthrow him now."  
  
And those were Kyra Longfletch's last words before she started running. The otter ran as she had never run before, gaining momentum as she ran faster and faster and faster, never stopping, teeth gritted, heart pounding, eyes watering, muscles burning inside her. It was as if her whole body was a mass of pain. She didn't stop.  
  
Faster and faster, harder and harder she ran, her speed increasing. She was going faster than any hare had ever gone, even the young gallopers. She was going faster than was possible by normal standards. She was a blur as she pushed off with powerful legs and sailed over the pit.  
  
Kyra's feet hit hard ground, jolting her teeth. The ottermaid ignored the pain and charged. Mavarl put up no resistance. He was staring in shock at Kyra. Nobeast could have made such a jump. Nobeast! It was impossible, and the befuddled warlord said as much. "It. . . it's impossible! Inconceivable! How. . ."  
  
Kyra cut him off by clamping a paw over his mouth. A hard, cold paw. "Do you really want those to be your last words, rat?" She asked calmly, clamping her other paw over his neck. Mavarl had regained his senses.  
  
The rat jumped up, wriggling free of Kyra's death grip somehow, and kicking her in the stomach. Kyra got up slowly, eyes burning. For the first time, her head was clear of Bloodwrath, even as she was facing her enemy. Mavarl, for one of the few times in his life, was terrified. The rat didn't know what to do. He charged at Kyra, intending to take her off guard by swirling around to kick her from behind.  
  
With catlike agility, the ottermaid jumped forwards, gripping Mavarl again by the throat. The rat was in a panic now, fighting out of desperation. He continued his attack on Kyra, jumping on top of her, biting, kicking, spitting, clawing, and cursing as hard and fast as he could.  
  
Kyra did not retaliate. She simply held him, slowly squeezing him as she rose to her feet, carrying the rat with her. Mavarl knew in which direction she was heading. He struggled to free himself from Kyra's grasp, but to no avail. The rat was locked firmly in her embrace. Kyra had reached the edge of the gaping crack that was Hellgates, watching the fire below. She stopped abruptly, turning Mavarl to face her.  
  
"Look at me, rat," she commanded. Mavarl looked away. Kyra shook him. "Look. . . at. . . me!" Mavarl cautiously turned his eyes to meet hers. They locked. The rat could not tear his gaze away from the flames that were dancing in them, the background of her irises shining red. Kyra was expressionless. Slowly, Kyra lifted the rat over her head, and threw him as hard as she could. Kyra stumbled.  
  
For a moment, Mavarl sailed in midair, and then, just as suddenly, he reached out and gripped Kyra's foot, his paw surrounding her ankle. Kyra was taken by surprise, and was pulled downwards, partially into the pit. Only her upper body was still touching the ground. Mavarl's weight began to pull her down slowly.  
  
The ottermaid searched frantically for a rock, branch, anything to grab. Her groping paws found nothing. Soon, her pelvis disappeared, followed by her ribs, shoulders, and chin. She was almost in the pit, her paws clinging to the edge of the crack with the strength of desperation.  
  
Mavarl looked up at Kyra, hatred burning in his black eyes. "If I have to go down to Hellgates, I'm making sure I take you with me, otter!" he spat. Kyra looked at Mavarl and then at her paws. The rat was helpless. Kyra smiled. "I've waited for this moment for a long time, Mavarl. I'd like to say, you've been a cruel but worthy adversary. This ends now, rat. Goodbye."  
  
She let her paws drop from the edge of Hellgates.  
  
Kyra was in a world of pain. She fell into the fire, endlessly falling, falling, falling... never any peace. So, this was what Hellgates was like. This was where all the villains went after they were killed. Into this place of. . . she couldn't describe it.  
  
The pain was constantly there, burning and eating away at her flesh. She was dead now, the pain boring into her soul. Kyra looked down at herself. She was a mass of fire. Just fire and spirit flesh, merging together. She suddenly looked down. She could see Mavarl's grip on her ankle, though she couldn't feel it. The rat was burning too, forever burning and tormented. And then. . .  
  
Thump  
  
They landed on solid ground. Fire spurted up at random for the bare, dry wasteland that stretched out as far as anyone could see. Mavarl got to his feet, letting go of Kyra's ankle. Slowly, shadowy forms started to appear around them, countless vermin closing in on them, and even the more civilized species, a very small number of hares, otters, shrews, mice, ect. that had turned bad were among them.  
  
Their eyes peered at the newcomers, staring at them oddly. Kyra looked at them in astonishment. A few of them were bolder and came closer. And, to her amazement, she recognized them! Not from personal acquaintance, but from stories. A rat that held his tail like a whip stepped forwards. Kyra had studied the history of Redwall Abbey well, and recognized Cluny the Scourge when she saw him.  
  
"Well, it seems you both have come to join us," he said in a thick accent.  
  
"Yes," nodded a weasel with bright blue eyes. Feragho the Assassin, of course. The weasel tilted his head and studied them both hard.  
  
"This place is a place of honor in Hellgates," said a ferret with six fingers on his demolished left paw. "Only the most evil are admitted into this part of Hellgates. You both must have done something horrible to get here. We all did, eh? It's torture. But there's no way out. Brace yourselves."  
  
Kyra glared frostily at the ferret. "I've done no wrong, Swartt Sixclaw. Well, ferret, does it comfort ye t'know yer name 'as been recorded in history t'this day? You others too. Cluny. Feragho..."  
  
The three held smug looks. "Have you heard of me?" a small vixen stepped forwards. Her fur was grey, and she carried a double handed axe. There were a few others like her in the crowd.  
  
"Aye. . . Lantur. I know ye, though 'ow I remember yer name I 'ave no idea, or 'ow I know that's the one you are. It's jus' a feelin', vixen." Silence reigned for a long time. A rat stepped forwards, holding a hook in place of a paw.  
  
"You must 'ave done somethin' to get down 'ere, H'Otter. Something. Tell Ragga Bol. I'm mos' curious." Kyra shook her head.  
  
"I didn' do anythin', Cap'n Bol. That wretch Mavarl the Tyrant brought me down 'ere." A stoat stepped forwards carrying a sword. He smiled wickedly.  
  
"Tyrant? I was once called that. Badrang the Tyrant, they called me. That is, until Martin the Warrior slew me after I killed 'is girlfriend. I didn' live to get my revenge. But I still curse 'is memory. Martin the Warrior. Huh! He was the one who sent me down here."  
  
A wildcat stepped forwards, agilely leaping behind Kyra. "That mouse killed me too, Badrang. Drowned me. I deserve revenge as much as you, and am willing to prove it to you. This place is full of pain, and it's all his fault. It's all the fault of you goodbeasts. Who are you, anyway? Any relations up in Dark Forest?"  
  
"Aye," Kyra spat. "I'm Kyrani Longfletch, and you c'd use some manners. . . Tsarmina." There were murmurs, but the murmurs did not speak the name of Longfletch. The spoke the name of Madeyes. Slowly, the crowd parted, a pine martin stepped through the crowd, eyes blazing.  
  
"So. . . Grath Longfletch lived. I, of course, knew her. She and I were only slightly connected though. I ordered my vermin to raid her Holt. I see you goodbeasts were successful in conquering my island. And that otterbrat lived long enough to reproduce. Quite well, if I can say so. Not many could take on that rat over there."  
  
Kyra glared at Mavarl. "Even if I have to stay here for eternity. . . even if I have to leave all those I love behind. . . at least that accursed rat is here too."  
  
"Well?" Asked Tsarmina, green eyes as narrow as slits. "What did you do to get down here? There must be a reason."  
  
Kyra shook her head. "No reason. That rat pulled me down here with him. I am a warrior. I kill to protect myself, and to help others. I am good. Once I thought that vermin and goodbeasts weren't so different, that we were all evil. Now I know why you are all down here. You were warriors too. But you wanted power. Goodbeasts help the weak and innocent. That's why I shouldn't be down here. I'm innocent."  
  
And with those words, Kyra Longfletch began to rise in the air. Higher and higher she rose, a bright white light surrounding her. The silvery light was so bright that none could bear to look at her. She was like a tiny sun in a world of darkness, rising higher and higher until she was almost invisible. Mavarl watched her go.  
  
"Kyra Longfletch. . ." he muttered to Cluny, "at least I lost to an amazing creature. To believe I fought the first beast to ever go to Hellgates and come back to tell the tale." All were silent for a long time, thinking about past decisions that had gotten them into this land of torture.  
  
"Oh my God." Lucien smelled smoke. He coughed, sprinting towards the room. The door was wide, the flames having gone down slightly. But they still lingered. Ignoring the fact that they burned into his skin, he ran to her.  
  
"Kyra!" he shouted, kneeling down by her side and taking his good arm around her back. He was breathing hard, shaking his head as he lifted her up. "No..." he whispered, cradling her head and gazing down at her limp form. He kissed her forehead, raising his head and looking around. Sky: dead. Marval: dead. Everywhere the scent of it clung to the air, filling his senses. She was dead.  
  
But it wasn't possible. . . it couldn't be. . . not like this. All this time she had been worried about him, when she had been the one to go. He picked her up, and held her cold, cold body in his arms. He hugged her body to his chest, doubting he'd be able to go further than a few steps before his strength gave out. His arm throbbed, his leg threatened to twist again, and his footpaws burned with the remaining fires.  
  
But he strode on, through the corridors, up the stairs, to the very roof of the fort. Lucien stood, the wind, ruffling his fur as he held dead center, looking out across. A tear flew from his cheek and into the wind. The breeze swirled leaves around him and Kyra, as he looked down into her face. He shook his head.  
  
"Why?" he whispered. "Why you? Why now?" he said, repeating the words he had said before. His voice grew angry, and steadily quieter, softer, more loving. "Why, when my life was finally going right? Why now? Why ever?"  
  
Kyra's eyelids fluttered. "'Ello, Lucien. Sorry I can't think of an idiotic phrase to say after a faint, like 'where am I' or somethin', but I'm too tired. . ." Kyra's lips turned up into a faint smile as her eyes opened wider. Lucien was with her. Well, more than with her. Holding her to his chest with tears running down his face. Kyra was moved, shocked, happy, embarrassed. . . and a lot of other things besides.  
  
It was all too complicated. Imagine, she thought to herself, to be talking to warlords of the past and rising out of hellgates to be held in her friend's arms. No. Lucien was more than a friend. She might as well admit it, if only to herself. She did not bother to ask Lucien to put her down, or let go of her. She was perfectly happy exactly where she was.  
  
She put her arms, burned and sore as they were, around Lucien's neck, blood from the battle spilling onto his fur. Of course, Kyra should have been receiving medical treatment, but she didn't care. Sky, Kestral, Raze, Mavarl, all were forgotten for the moment, though the ottermaid would have cause to think about them later.  
  
Kyra had nothing to worry about, though. And why should future thoughts disturb her perfect contentedness? And why shouldn't she be content? The war was over. . . she presumed. She had escaped Hellgates. Mavarl was dead. She was free. . . and she was in Lucien's embrace. Lucien's eyes grew wide as hers came open  
  
"Kyra. . . but. . . how could that. . . ?"  
  
But it didn't matter. Nothing did, except for the one being he held in his arms at that very moment. He stared straight into her eyes, half unable to believe it, half rushing to accept it. "Am I dreaming?" he murmured quietly, so only she could hear. "No, surely no dream could be this sweet." His eyes scanned quickly over her wounds, then back up to her face. "You look beautiful," he said quietly. And he didn't lie.  
  
Lucien hugged her even closer to his chest, bending his head down towards hers. Then, he let his lips descend gently onto hers, swept over them. He shut his eyes, living only for this moment. If he died now, it wouldn't matter! He lifted his head again, and opened his eyes. Tears sprang forth, and streamed down his cheek. They were tears of pure joy, but even more than that, they were tears of love.  
  
It was then that his legs decided to give out. With a slight laugh, he was kneeling on the ground again, ignoring the searing pain in his right leg as he held her inn his embrace. He shook his head, sniffing. "You did it," he said.  
  
Kyra sighed. The ottermaid sat at the bow of the ship, sea spray arching like rainbows in front of her, the sunlight catching their glimmer as droplets of water cascaded down upon the bright blue depth that was the ocean. Kyra felt no such joy, however. Something wasn't right. Kyra hadn't seen Sky since the Rebellion, and whenever she had asked about her, creatures had pointedly ignored her.  
  
Did they know something she didn't? She had tried asking Lucien, but that otter had only silenced her mouth with a kiss and refused to answer. Kyra was feeling the absence of her friend in her soul like a deep, bottomless void that couldn't be filled.  
  
Even her reunion with Ronil hadn't cheered her completely. Was Sky mad at her? Was she wounded, and no one wanted her to know? But she was determined to find out. It was hard to believe that only a few hours ago, the night before, there had been a great and bloody battle. Everything was so peaceful now! It seemed as if nothing could go wrong. . . but soon, Kyra would find out about the loss of her best friend.  
  
Lucien was at the back of the boat, staring at the shore with a face of stone. He had his gaze locked onto the sands, an array of poles lined up in rows. Buried there in were all their fellow comrades. The flags were green, fluttering in the breeze. He watched the one section of the Fort engulfed in licking flames. He shook his head, sorry he couldn't have retrieved Sky's body to give her a proper burial.  
  
He had deliberately avoided the subject around Kyra, simply because he wasn't ready to tell her what she had done. He shuddered slightly, not realizing until then how bad the bloodwrath was. He shook it off and tore away from looking back at the Fort. He turned his eyes straight towards the water. As he stared at his reflection he felt a shiver crawl up his spine. He had left with more and less than he had come with.  
  
Kyra watched her friend brooding, eyeing him strangely. She had known something was troubling him, and was ready to find out what it was. What could be so bad that it was bothering Lucien so? Wasn't he happy that this was all over? Wasn't he happy that the rebellion was over and that both of their enemies were dead? Didn't that fix everything?  
  
No, she decided. If she could be upset after killing Mavarl, so could Lucien. Deciding to approach the subject once and for all, the ottermaid stepped forwards, sneaking up behind Lucien and resting a paw on his shoulder.  
  
Her face was the picture of concern and sadness, of worry and regret. She knew that Lucien would not want to tell her what was bothering him, but she also knew that she had to know. Somehow, she had to know. And she wanted to hear it from him. No one else.  
  
"Lucien?" She asked, her voice soft and consoling. "Tell me what's wrong. I've waited long enough." Kyra felt her heart grow numb as she saw the expression on Lucien's face. A strange ringing echoed in her ears, and her eyes began to sting as her temples throbbed. Something was wrong.  
  
Lucien looked up, his eyes glazed over. He shook the film off and sighed, walking away from the railing. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, turning around to face her. His quiver of arrows was strapped to his back again, his bow slung over his shoulder. Inside the arrow pack was an arrow that didn't fit.  
  
He looked her straight in the eye and said it, said what he and all the others had been dying to tell her. But he knew something they didn't know. He knew who had killed Sky. "Kys. . ." he began, wiping off his brow, and keeping his steady gaze. "Sky is dead, Kyra. That's why no one's been a- talkin' about her. But what they don't know is. . ." he trailed off, stopping dead.  
  
But he had to tell her. "Kys. . . you wouldn't believe how hard this is to tell you. Kyra, you were the one who killed her." He pulled out a green fletched arrow from his quiver, handing it to her. He hadn't bothered to wash the blood off the tip and a piece of the shaft. He held it out her.  
  
"Kyra," he stammered, "I'm so sorry." He embraced her, glad he had told her, but not happy she knew. She had to hear it from him though. She had to. She had to. But now she would never be the same. And he wouldn't be able to tell her what else was troubling him. Not for a long time. Now, she needed some time to recover.  
  
Kyra looked shocked, not speaking at all, her mouth dry and her heart drumming inside her chest. She swallowed once, her eyes wide open and her pupils dilated. A rush of sound was pouring into her ears, and it took all the willpower that the young otter possessed to keep from falling to her knees and gripping her head with her paws. She made not a sound, her heart jumping up into her throat.  
  
Sky was dead. Sky was dead. Sky was dead. And Lucien said that she had killed her! All this time, she had worried about their safety, and she had hardly given a thought to hurting Sky! What had she done? Just when everything had seemed to go right, just when everything seemed perfect, it was ruined. Not only was Sky dead, but she had killed her!  
  
Lucien had proof! A bloodstained arrow! Besides, she had not used any other shafts that Lucien would have come across. He hadn't passed the vermin she had slaughtered on her way to the armory. And she had collected those arrows herself. After that, she had only shot Mavarl, and she had used her golden arrow for that. The Golden Arrow. . . where was it? But it didn't matter now, did it? It was entombed with her best friend now. The one she had slain with her own paws under the bloodwrath.  
  
Kyra gasped and stared at Lucien, hardly daring to move. "I. . . Lucien?" Her eyes were tear-filled now, wide and imploring, pleading for him to fix things. But he couldn't. "Lucien. . ." she whispered, her lips dry and her head feeling as though it was being attacked by a thousand sharp hammers.  
  
She knew it was true. Lucien would never lie to her. And she knew that this was something that could have happened. Wasn't this what she had feared? Yes, but she had been secretly confident that she wouldn't ever hurt her friends. She had wished and hoped that this would never happen. And now. . . what now?  
  
Kyra broke down completely. Her body shuddering, her legs buckling underneath her heavily breathing chest, her lips quivering, her mind repeating the information that it had just gained over and over and over again in a painful taunting way. She flung her arms around Lucien's neck, collapsing onto his chest, burying her face into his neck.  
  
Kyra would have felt perfectly fine if not for the news about Sky. She had gotten her long- awaited freedom, had cleaned and bound her wounds, as well as the rest of her body, and had Lucien. But. . . Sky's death, by her paws, took away all of her former joy. She kept her face in his shoulder, not bothering to move; not having the strength to move.  
  
The pain, numbing her muscles and forcing her brain to repeat the same startling and depressing words over and over again. 'You killed Sky. It's all your fault, Kyra. How could you kill your best friend?' This was the second time that she had cried in her life.  
  
The first time had been after she had killed Mavarl, and had been reunited with her brother. Being crowned Skipper of River Otters hadn't been a hindrance for her tears of joy either. But, this was different. These were her first sad tears. They were tears of blood. She let them run down her face, leaving damp streaks on her cheeks. She said not a word.  
  
Lucien returned his thoughts to Kyra. With some difficulty, he kept her up, hugging her tightly. The last thing she needed right now was for him to be blabbing on about himself. A gust of wind blew by, ruffling his and her fur, and threatened to knock the two otters over. But he held on tight, not daring to let go.  
  
"There, there, now, Kyra, H'I know yer angry with yerself. But blamin' you ain't makin' matters better, now, is it?" he said, still keeping her in his embrace. He kept himself pressed to her, whispering his words of comfort and making sure no other beast would bother her.  
  
"Now, I betcha yore mate Sky knew yew was under the bloodwrath. An' I betcha she'd do whatever it took, jus' t'see you beat Marval. An' I doubt she's angry with yeh. You know what Kys?" he asked, not waiting for an answer. "I think that from where she's lookin' at you, I betcha she's proud."  
  
Kyra did not speak for a long while, tears streaming down her face. "Proud, Lucien? How c'd Sky be proud after bein' murdered by her best friend? All this time I was worried about ye, an' all the other slaves. All this time, H'I hardly ever thought of Sky. An' now she's dead. Dead an' gone forever. An' I killed 'er, too. D'you know how she mus' have felt, seein' me kill her?"  
  
Kyra was silent for a long while then, not sure of what to say. "Lucien," the ottermaid said tentatively, her brown eyes shining with unreleased tears, "I. . . I didn't mean what I said. I was jus' really upset about Sky an' all. I didn't mean t'sound so ungrateful. You've 'elped me so much, an'. . ." Kyra could hardy bring herself to say the words. "I love you."  
  
Lucien smiled, first time in a while that he had smiled a real one instead of the half-hearted ones he had worn during slavery. He kept her at gazing level, not glancing out at the rainbow that seemed to have dazzled the rest of the crew.  
  
"I love you too, Kyra. But you know why I said what I said, don't you? Don't think that Sky had no flippin' idea of what could happen when she charged in after you. She knew her risks, and she took them."  
  
Kyra nodded at him, seeing some sense in what he said.  
  
"You're right, Lucien. You're right. . . it's just that she didn't deserve to die. She didn't deserve to be killed so painfully. An' at her last moments, I think she knew that I was mad. . . but. . . I still think she felt betrayed. It's jus', I loved Sky with all my 'eart. She was my best friend, an' I hate to think that she hated me in her last moments. And that I was the one who stole everything she loved from 'er.  
  
"With Mavarl, t'was different. I'd no qualms about killin' 'im. He had to be killed; t'was the only way of stopping him. But Sky. . ." Her voice trailed off as she pulled herself slightly out of Lucien's embrace. She grinned at him slightly, even if it was a bit half-hearted, and leaned against the banister of the ship, allowing him to do the same next to her.  
  
She sighed, a sigh of sadness and restlessness as well as happiness and contentedness. She was so confused! She was with Lucien looking at a rainbow. That made her happy! But Sky was dead. She wouldn't ever see a rainbow again. She wouldn't feel joy, and she would never allow laughter to penetrate her dead lips again.  
  
"I can't honestly say I know whether or not that's true, Kys. We all loved Sky, prolly no one more than you. But she's not gone. She's still there," he said, pointing at her heart. "Doesn't that mean more than anything? To still love her while she's gone, instead of beatin' yerself up over it? Wouldn't that make her feel less betrayed?"  
  
Lucien grinned, gazing at the rainbow. So beautiful. . . it had come at the right time, too. Whether Kyra denied it or accepted it, she seemed to be enjoying looking at it too. Vibrant colors, a gorgeous sun, and the perfect day to be sailing. . .  
  
Kyra nodded to Lucien, his words creeping into her very soul and healing it. The words started to patch up the large rip that had appeared in her heart. Of course, the rip would never completely go away, and it would fester often, but it would heal slightly. And it would get better and better as the seasons passed.  
  
And then she thought of something she had told Sky long ago, and had used to comfort herself many times in the past when all hope seemed lost. "A soul isn't meant to be kept in a cage," she murmured to herself, the words rolling off her tongue as the grief and anguish rolled off of her like water. "It's meant to be wild and free. No one should keep it pent up."  
  
A slow smile spread across her face. Why was she sad? Sky was free. Her soul was at rest, and she no longer had to face fear and sadness. "Stay there, Lucien. I'm jus' goin' t'get something from my chamber. Won't be but a moment." Without another word, Kyra disappeared below the decks of the tossing ship.  
  
The cabin that Kyra was currently occupying was simple: a small wooden room with a bed that was more like a bunk than anything else, covered with a simple sheet. There was a dresser next to it, attached to the wall, and not much else. There was also a round window.  
  
Kyra pulled out a fresh tunic from the drawers in the simple dresser. This tunic, however, was not one of her usual garb. Kyra usually donned green, her family color as well as the color of her arrows. This tunic was white. She sighed as she held it in front of her, examining it shrewdly. It would do. Quietly, the ottermaid stripped off the rags that she had kept on without realizing it for quite a long time.  
  
Also among her possessions were a necklace of sea coral, which she adorned; a fish bone bracelet, which she also adorned; and the emerald crown that she had taken from Mavarl so long ago. Why the otters she commanded had brought these things, she knew not. But, she was glad they were here.  
  
Walking up the stairs seemed to take a much shorter time than she had thought. The journey seemed to last only seconds. Once she again reached Lucien, she looked immediately to his feet. There it was, just where it had fallen. The arrow that she had killed Sky with. A green one, though it was just as important as her golden one.  
  
She silently picked it up, notching it to her bowstring neatly. Then, she took off the fishbone bracelet, wrapping it around the arrows feathery plumage. Her apology. Her eyes shining with tears, Kyra again set the arrow to the bowstring.  
  
The saber lay in front of her. She would keep that, and learn to use it properly. She would wield that blade in Sky's memory. But for now, she still had a tribute to perform. Kyra closed her eyes and shot the arrow into the depths of the sea. . .  
  
It flew until it could no longer be seen.


End file.
